


Extra Curriculars

by riadsala, shoemaster



Series: Extra Curriculars [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chicago Blackhawks, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riadsala/pseuds/riadsala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/pseuds/shoemaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to every TV show Brent's ever seen, every school has a guy like Duncan Keith: the weird outcast who wears all black and listens to metal.  High School AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Curriculars

**Author's Note:**

> Not only is this a 'they're all the same age and went to the same high school' AU, this is a 'we completely disregarded the existence of Junior level hockey for our own fun and profit' AU. And by profit, we mean porn.
> 
> Thanks to beatperfume for the beta!

According to every TV show Brent's ever seen, every school has a guy like Duncan Keith: the weird outcast who wears all black and listens to metal. But the thing is, there wasn't anyone like that at Delta before Keith transferred in at the start of junior year. Brent figures switching high schools then is going to be tough no matter what, but Keith really didn't help matters when the first presentation he gave -- the most words anyone had heard him say at that point -- was on some messed up serial killer.

And as far as he can remember, on TV the weird outcast guy usually isn't one of the best hockey players in the region. Not the best though. The best players are on Brent's team, but the Lancers aren't too bad.

He's in Brent's history class, but he sits by himself and listens to his headphones way too loud any time the teacher's not talking. No one really talks to him and the guys on the Vipers all lost interest when he stayed with his own team, even after moving here.

When Brent gets assigned to work with Keith for their big class project, he's not thrilled. Troy and Ladd and Fraser are in the class with him, why couldn't he get one of them? Sure, he and Ladd don't usually get a lot of work done when they work together, but that doesn't mean he'd rather work with Keith. To be fair, Keith hasn't actually given him a reason to think he's anything worse than a loner weirdo, so Brent figures it will probably be fine. He still feels a little bit lame tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention before he goes stalking off down the hall after class

Keith just removes one headphone and -- wow, yeah, that's loud -- and gives Brent a "what?" look.

"So we should probably trade like, email addresses or whatever for the project. I mean, I don't know what your practice schedule is like, but it's probably crazy like ours is and-"

"Yeah, okay," Keith says.

"Oh, right, yeah." Brent starts digging in his bag for a pen and a piece of paper he's not going to have to turn in eventually. He feels kind of like an idiot, which is stupid, because exchanging emails is a totally legitimate thing to be doing right now.

Keith scrawls his on the back of what turns out to be a show flier for a band with way too many skulls on its logo and is out of the classroom almost before Brent can say thanks.

He could email Keith during study hall, but decides to wait until he gets home, which isn't til like, eight because he has practice and then a bunch of them grab a bite to eat before Ladd drops him off at home.

He stares at the blinking cursor for a few minutes before sending off a "hey, this is my email address. -seabs"

He doesn't really know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a reply two minutes later saying, "saturday at 5?"

His game is at 10am on Saturday, so he'll be free that afternoon. Maybe they'll be done early enough that he can even hang out with the guys after.

"cool. wanna meet at the library? - seabs"

"okay."

 

And that's pretty much that. Except Brent ends up googling the band that's on the flier and listening to like, a song before turning it off. He really doesn't get that stuff.

He puts on some Brooks & Dunn and reads the 30 pages of Margaret Atwood his English teacher assigned in between IMing Brouwer and Ladd.

The rest of the week passes with the two of them exchanging awkward "we know each other but we aren't friends" head nods, and when Saturday rolls around Brent is determined to get in and out of there as fast as possible.

For once, Keith doesn't have his headphones in, and is apparently trying to scratch designs into the side of his pencil with a ball point pen.  He stops as soon as Brent walks up though, and pulls out the assignment sheet they were given.

"Straight to work, eh?" Brent says. "Got plans for later?"

"Not being in the library on a Saturday night?" Keith says.

"Yeah, fair point. Your team's probably got a party thing going too, huh?"

Keith just shrugs, and Brent isn't sure if that's a negative or an affirmative. "I think we should do Franklin's fuck up in the arctic," he says. "There are a lot of books about it."

"Yeah, sure," Brent says. "Did they eat each other? Or was that only the Donner Party?"

"Yeah, I think some of them did. Before they all froze to death."

Brent grimaces and scratches under his neck. "Gross. Here, I'll go search the catalog and then we can go find the ones that look useful."

Keith just stares at him, worrying his pen against his lip.

"Um, unless you want to do the searching?"

"What? No, yeah, that's cool. I'll go, uh, start looking." And with that he gets up and heads toward the non fiction stacks.

Brent scribbles down some call numbers but when he goes to pull them, Keith's holding half of them already. "You read my mind," Brent says, showing him the list.

Keith just sort of shrugs. 

Right. "So this should be enough book sources, and I guess I'll look online tomorrow."

"Cool," Keith says.

There's an awkward silence after they divvy up the books so Brent asks, "Did you guys play today?"

"Yeah."

Brent is about to give this whole "conversation" thing up as a lost cause, because seriously? But after a pause Keith continues.

"We got creamed by Abbotsford."

"Ouch. We played them in an invitational last year. Do they still have that guy on wing who's like, 8 feet tall?"

"He looks like he's 23," Keith says.

"Right? What do they feed them out there?" Brent asks. "But oh man, when he goes down, he goes down hard."

Keith's mouth twitches -- it's almost like a smile.

"We almost got beat by Kelowna, which would've been awful, but Ladder pulled this ridiculous deke move and got the game winner," Brent says. "He says we have to bring his share of the beer tonight, but I think that's bullshit, cause I've got a bruise right here," he stands and points to a spot high on his thigh, "from blocking a shot. That deserves at least a pair, right?"

But Keith is apparently back to his silent staring thing, so Brent has no choice but to sit back down and get to work.

"Does it look cool?" Keith asks after a minute.

"What?"

"Your bruise."

"Oh, right. I mean, it was already purple after the game, so it's probably gonna be around for a while. Hurts like a son of a bitch."

"Then yeah, definitely a two beer bruise."

"See! Dmen have each other's backs. You should come tonight, be my back up."

"What?" Keith asks.

"I mean, if you don't have other plans. Fraz is hosting, and you might get pumped for like, a scouting report or whatever, but it'd be cool."

"I'm not really big on like, parties and stuff. And won't your friends be mad that you're bringing the weirdo to the party?"

"No one thinks you're a weirdo," Brent says automatically, even though yeah, most people do.

Keith just raises his eyebrow.

"It's not like it's going to be a rager. Everyone there is cool, they'll be cool. And some people think you're kind of strange because you don't hang out with anyone at school. So come hang out."

Keith still looks skeptical.

"It's not like you'll be stuck there all night if it sucks, which it won't."

Keith hesitates another moment, but eventually he kind of shrugs and relaxes. "Well, I guess if there's gonna be free beer."

Brent grins. "Can't argue with that. I'll email you Fraz's address and you can google map it. It's not that far."

"If it totally blows, you're writing my half of the report."

"If you really want a C that badly," Brent says, grinning.

He gets to Fraz's earlier than he would normally, because he doesn't want Keith showing up before him. That's not really an issue, because Keith doesn't show up for another hour.

It's kind of obvious when he does finally arrive. There are a few confused murmurs that make Brent turn to the door. "Hey! You made it!"

Keith looks really uncomfortable standing in the foyer, so Brent grabs a beer and heads right over. Keith has changed out of the black band t-shirt he was wearing and into another shirt that, while still black, is long sleeved and considerably tighter. "Thought you might be standing me up."

Keith takes the beer and pops the tab one handed, a skill Brent is totally jealous of, because he always ends up dropping the beer on his foot when he tries. "Come on, I'll show you around."

It's a little awkward the way everybody nods when Brent says "You guys know Keith, right?" because it's really obvious that it's the nod of, "I recognize the school weirdo".

But Brent powers through, and once they start talking hockey things start going pretty well. Keith's still not really smiling, but he's talking, so he's not having an awful time.

"No, you owe me two beers, Laddy, it was your turnover. And look at this bruise!" Brent is a little drunk, so dropping his pants and lifting the edge of his boxers to show off the mottled purple bruise on his thigh seems like a great idea.

And then a girl squeals, "Duncs!" and comes running over to hug Keith. Suddenly Brent feels very awkward about his jeans around his ankles.

"Erica? What are you doing here?" Keith asks, even as he's hugging her. "Does Kaner know you're here?"

She just waves him off. "He's at home playing video games like a dork."

Keith is giving the guy Erica came with -- a basketball player from their school -- a dirty look.

Brent picks up his pants as casually as possible.

Of course, casually as possible for a drunk Brent still includes losing his balance and falling into the arm of the couch. And so naturally that's when Erica turns her attention from Keith to the rest of the group. 

"Charming the pants off the boys at your new school too, Duncs?" she giggles. Keith blushes and mutters something insulting into his beer.

"Sorry, we haven't met," Brent says, holding out his hand once he's shimmied back into his pants and ignores the way that Laddy is totally laughing at him. "I'm Brent Seabrook. How do you know Duncs?"

It's the first time he's used the nickname, but he never knew Keith even had a nickname. He likes it.

"Erica Kane," she says, shaking his. "Duncs and my brother Pat have played hockey together for forever."

"No shit," Brent says. "Wait. You're Patrick Kane's sister? How does a little dweeb like that- I mean. Uh. I see you stole all the pretty from the gene pool." He grins charmingly, like maybe everyone will forget he insulted her brother.

Erica laughs and Keith snorts. "He traded it in for athletic skill."

"Not everyone can be as blessed as some of us," Brent says, shrugging.

She just laughs at him, and turns back to Keith. "I'll see you at the next game, okay? And I'll tell Pat I saw you."

She heads back over to her basketball players and Brent stares at Duncs. "Come on dude, next time give me some warning if a hot chick is going to show up while I've got my pants down."

"I think maybe you're missing the point of taking off your pants," Duncs says dryly.

"I like to think I have a little more game than that," Brent says.

"Oh please," says Fraser, coming up and throwing an arm around Brent's shoulders. "Like you have any game at all. When's the last time you even got a girl's number?”

“Two months ago, the opposing goalie's sister,” Ladd offers.

“Thank you,” Brent laughs and then shoves at Fraz. "Besides, your mom gave me plenty of numbers last night, dude."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" Fraser shoves him back and they both go careening into Keith, who manages to steady them both and not even spill his beer in the process.

"Look at this guy," Brent grins. "He's got skills all over the place."

"Yeah, he skilled me onto my ass last year," Fraz says.

Duncs takes a sip of his beer, but Brent thinks he's just trying to hide his smile. "You were in the crease."

Fraz snorts, but Brent is kind of in awe. "Shit man, you're like Dirty Harry of the blue line. Do you feel lucky, punk?"

He's still standing really close to Duncs. He should probably take a step back, but he doesn't feel like it.

"I'm glad you're my partner, man," he says, tapping Duncs’s chest. "for our project. You're a pretty cool dude."

Duncs snorts. "You're pretty bitchin' yourself, brah."

"Dude, shut up, you know what I mean. It's nice that you're not just the weird goth kid anymore."

"I'm not _goth_ ," Duncs says.

"You're the closest thing this school has to it," Brent says, waving off the semantics. "I know people were kind of dicks at first, so I can't blame you for trying to drown us all out with the headphones."

"Thanks?" Duncs says.

"I need another beer, come on," Brent says.

He tugs Duncs in the direction of the kitchen. "You need another one too?"

"No, I'm good, I have to drive home eventually. Thanks, though."

Brent smiles and opens the fridge. "See? Coming here wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I guess not," Duncs shrugs.

"You guess not?" Brent asks. "Fine, next weekend you can show me what you do for fun."

"Uh, I was going to see Bloodscrye at The Garage next weekend. I don't- that's probably not your thing."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know them really. But you should always try new things, right?"

"Wait, really? You'd want to come?"

"I mean, unless you don't want me to? It's only fair." Drunk logic is so clear and simple.

"No, I mean yeah. You don't have to."

"I have black clothes," Brent offers. "I can blend!"

Duncs looks skeptical and laughs, but he says, "Okay, if you want."

"Cool," Brent says, grinning and slapping Duncs's shoulder.

“You're a real friendly drunk, huh," Duncs says, looking a little bemused.

"I'm friendly all the time!" Brent protests. He's totally a friendly guy. Duncs just laughs again and leans up against the counter.

"Yeah, I guess you are."

The rest of the party goes well. Duncs is quiet, but he joins in on conversations and doesn't look like he's dying to get out of there.

Brent likes having him around.

"I should get going," Duncs says, pulling out his car keys.

"Are you good to drive?" Brent asks. He's a very responsible drunk. "There's plenty of crash space."

"I stopped drinking an hour ago," Duncs says. "I'm fine. Did you need a ride home?"

"I'm crashing here," Brent says. "The folks wouldn't appreciate me stumbling in, you know?" It's a tempting offer though, which is kind of weird.

"Okay, cool," Duncs says. "I guess I'll see you in history then."

"Awesome," Brent says, and on impulse grabs Duncs around the shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. Duncs seems surprised for a second, but eventually his arms come around Brent's back. He's got very nice shoulders, Brent thinks absently.

 

When he gets home the next afternoon, there's an email from Duncs, with a bunch of links for their history project.

"did you sleep at all last nite?" Brent replies.

"yeah. Just didn't have to nurse a hangover this morning."

"touche"

They continue emailing back and forth all afternoon, occasionally talking about their project, but mostly about their hockey teams and classmates and Duncs’s old school and things. Duncs emails him in all caps occasionally to ask if his hangover is any better and Brent googles around for the cheesiest death metal bands he can find, and sends the links to Duncs asking if they're his favorite band ever.

When Brent's mom calls him down for dinner, he's shocked that it's time already. "gotta go, dude, dinner's ready. i can totally count this all as homework time right? see you tomorrow bro"

 

Duncs is already at his desk when Brent gets to history, headphones on and blasting. So Brent kicks his foot as he walks by to take the desk next to him.

Duncs looks up from his notebook then and removes one headphone. It's a banner day. "Hey."

"Hey," Brent says. "What's up?"

Duncs shrugs.

Right. Brent tries to think of something else to say, but the bell rings and he has to actually like, pay attention to class.

Well, he half pays attention to class, he half watches Duncs out of the corner of his eye. He can't tell if the guy is actually taking notes or just doodling.

He divides his attention between Duncs and Mrs. Holtzapple until he glances over one time and sees Duncs staring back at him. It's not really a thing that should make him blush, but apparently his face didn't get that message. He tries for a casual hand wave, but Mrs. Holtzapple apparently mistakes that for him raising his hand and he has to scramble to come up with a factor for the decline of the fur trade.

"Uh, over trapping?" he says. 

He just knows Duncs is laughing at him. To be fair, so are Troy and Ladd behind him. His friends are all assholes.  
"That was one factor in the decline of the populations of furred animals. What was the other?"

Brent is shooting Duncs a dirty look, but he's tapping his pencil fake casual against the notebook page closest to Brent. 

"Clearing the land for settlements?" Brent reads.

"Very good Brent," she says. "And you too, Duncan."

Duncs slips down in his chair and goes back to taking notes and ignoring Brent for the rest of the period.  
Brent tries to catch him after class, but he's headphoned up and out the door before Brent can even put his books away. He heads straight to the parking lot after school though, and manages to catch Duncs heading toward an older black pickup truck.

"Hey, Duncs," he calls out, jogging up to him, but now that he's caught up he doesn't know quite what he wants to say. "Thanks for helping me out in history. Sorry you got called out."

Duncs shrugs and slings his backpack into the bed of the truck. "Not my fault I know more about the fur trade than you, Seabrook."

"Hey, I know plenty about beavers thank you very much!" he says without thinking, then has to laugh at what he just said. Duncs is definitely trying to hide a smile.

"So I've got like an hour to kill before practice and was going to head to Timmy's..." Brent says, leaving the invitation unspoken.

"I've got practice out in Langley," Duncs says. 

"Oh! Right," Brent says, rocking back on his heels. "Well you better get going then, eh?"

"Yeah," Duncs says, rolling his keys in his hand.

"Well, have fun. And oh, tell Kaner he has no business having a sister that hot." 

"I will, but you can't blame me when he's sitting outside your house with a baseball bat every night." Duncs opens the door to his truck and climbs in.

"Please, I could take that pee-wee no problem," Brent scoffs. He waves Duncs off and tries to remember where he left his own car. Maybe if he's lucky he'll get the cashier who always gives him an extra donut in his order.

 

The rest of the week goes pretty much the same. Duncs isn't suddenly his bff, but he talks a little more to Brent and his friends.

The Vipers beat North Vancouver on Friday night and afterward he crashes at Ladd's and they stay up way too late playing Call of Duty because he's got the whole weekend free. Well, free for homework and working out. And going to see that band with Duncs. He has to google the venue to figure out how to spell the band's name.

It's really not his thing, but he hopes that with repetition he won't look quite so pained when he hears it live.

The venue website also gives him a pretty good idea of how he should dress if he doesn't want to stick out like a sore thumb. He's got a pair of ripped jeans and a black shirt. It's a little too small, but it's the only one he's got.

Duncs looks surprised when he swings by Brent's house to pick him up.

"What? I told you I could blend," Brent says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Duncs clears his throat. "Sorry I doubted you." He goes to take off the parking break but pauses, and fumbles with one of the leather cuffs around his wrist. He tosses it to Brent. "Now you'll really blend."

They get to the venue and buy their tickets, and the whole time all Brent can think about is the cuff around his wrist: how it's making him itch a little, and how he secretly thinks it makes him look a little badass, and how it used to be around Duncs’s wrist. Once they get inside he's quite content to stand along the wall and people watch, but Duncs continues down into the cluster of people in the pit, and Brent doesn't really want to lose sight of the only person he knows here.

Down in the pit people are talking and jostling each other, waiting for the band to go on. Brent stands there awkwardly, rubbing his fingers over the buckle of the cuff.

"So do you like, go to a lot of shows?" he asks. Duncs nods, kicking away an empty water bottle on the floor.

"Some. There're games a lot of the time, but you know, when I can."

Brent nods, "Yeah, I had to miss the Brad Paisley show when it came to town because we had a tournament."

"Are you sure you want to be in the pit?" Duncs asks. "It can get a little out of control."

Brent stands up straight and looks down at Duncs. "I think I can handle it. I play hockey.  Is this because of the country music thing? Because those can get pretty wild too."

Duncs shakes his head just as the lights go down. The crowd sends up a cheer and surges forward. The band starts playing and it's almost worse live. It's definitely louder.  But Brent doesn't have much time to be a music critic, because some dude just crashed into him.

"Hey man, watch it," Brent says. The music drowns him out, and as he looks around he sees he's one of the few not throwing himself around and crashing into people. Even Duncs has joined a circle of guys bouncing off each other.

He edges toward the side a little, because he figures that'll be safer, but it turns out the sides are where people end up when they get violently tossed out of the center. He starts bouncing around and throwing his shoulders into guys just for self-preservation. He's starting to think he's getting a hang of it and glances over at Duncs to show him how not out of his element he is. He's just in time to see a guy straight up launch himself over a knot of people and land squarely on Duncs’s back, knocking him face first into the ground. The guy gets up and bounces off like it's nothing, but Duncs only pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, shaking his head. 

"Duncs!" Brent yells, elbowing guys indiscriminately as he pushes his way toward him. A couple guys are helping him up and stopping other guys from moshing too close. "Dude, are you okay?" he asks, sliding his shoulder under Duncs’s arm as the other guys go back to dancing.

"Ib find," Duncs says.

"Bullshit," Brent says, dragging them out of the pit. "Your nose is bleeding."

"Only a liddle," Duncs argues.

"Yeah, so it's probably not broken," Brent says, rolling his eyes. "It's still bleeding."

"Just ged me sub napkins," Duncs says rolling his eyes back at Brent.

He does, and he goes to hold them against Duncs's bloody nose himself, but Duncs takes them out of his hand at the last second.

"You tink Ib crazy dow, don't you," Duncs says.

"Uh, kind of?" Brent replies. He thinks he sees Duncs frown, but it's kind of hard to tell behind all the bloody paper. "But it was also kind of fun. I saw one guy just straight up punch another dude."

"Yeah, sub guys ged indo it preddy hardcore."

Brent watches a trickle of blood make its way down Duncs’s chin. "Do you wanna go wash that blood off your face? I always hate how itchy it gets when it dries."

Duncs nods in agreement and heads toward the back of the club. Brent follows behind, wondering what kind of bathroom a place like this even has. Turns out one with black painted walls almost entirely obscured by band fliers and stickers, and a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There are two rusty urinals and a cracked porcelain sink, the latter of which Duncs heads straight for, tossing the bloody napkins and splashing his face. The two other dudes already in there ignore them both. Brent grabs a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and hands them to Duncs once he's got most of the blood off his face.

"Thanks," Duncs says, wiping his face and twitching his nose. "I think I'm ready to go back out there."

"Seriously?" Brent asks. "What if you get hit in the face?"

"I'll mop up the blood?" Duncs shrugs. "I'm a hockey player, remember?"

Brent huffs. "Fine. But it's your face you'll be ruining."

Duncs looks at him weird when he says that, but pushes the door bathroom door open. "Come on."

Brent actually gets kind of into it, moshing around with all the other dudes. Sometimes he and Duncs crash into each other and Duncs will slap him on the shoulder.  He totally keeps an eye on Duncs when they're not bouncing off each other, in case he goes down again.  Unfortunately, he probably should've been keeping that eye on the rest of the crowd, because he might've seen that dude's fist coming in time to duck.

Which is how they find themselves back where they were half an hour ago, just with their positions reversed. Brent clutches his face. He can already tell he's going to have an awesome black eye tomorrow, which will be fun to explain to his mom. Duncs hands him a stack of napkins and puts a hand on his shoulder, ducking his head to get a look at Brent's face.

"Doesn't look like anything's broken," he says. "If you wanna get out of here, we can go."

"Your band's dot done playing," Brent protests.

"I think we've taken enough damage for tonight," Duncs replies. 

“Are you sure?" Brent asks.

"Yeah, come on, we can go get something to eat," Duncs says, wiping the last smear of blood off Brent's face.

"Is there anywhere around here that won't take one look at us and kick us out?" Brent asks.  There's a wet spot on his shirt that's probably blood but the fabric is too dark to tell, and a few splatters on his jeans, too. He doesn't even know whose blood it is.

"A few places," Duncs shrugs.

"There was definitely more crowd participation than at that Keith Urban concert I went to," Brent says. "Unless you count the women throwing bras and panties on stage."

"I'm not sure there are a whole lot of bras in here to throw," Duncs says, glancing around. 

The air outside the club is cool compared to the sweaty mess inside, and it feels good against Brent's swollen face. Duncs leads him into a shabby-looking burger joint down the street, and an incredibly bored waitress seats them in a far corner.

"Their blue cheese burger is pretty decent," Duncs says as he passes a menu over to Brent. 

"Wow, I wouldn't have thought a place like this even had a blue cheese burger."

The waitress comes back with two glasses of water which she slops onto the table. Brent drinks his almost all in one go. The waitress rolls her eyes and goes to fetch a pitcher. Duncs nudges his glass across the table toward him.

“You sure you don't mind?" Brent asks.

"She'll be back in a minute," Duncs says, pushing it closer.

Brent chugs that glass, too, and he can feel Duncs watching him. He passes Duncs's glass back and says, "Thanks," as he picks up his own again, holding the cold glass against his bruised eye.

"It's my fault you're so beat up," Duncs says. "I can spare the glass of water."

"It's not your fault," Brent protests. "You didn't punch me in the face."

"I invited you to a place with face punching, though."

"It's not like I've never had a bloody nose before. This barely even ranks on my list of hockey injuries. I mean, I still have that bruise from last week."

The waitress comes back with their refills and they figure they better order before she decides it's too much trouble to ever come back. Once she's stomped off again, Brent leans back against the booth and smiles.

"I still can't believe you do that regularly, on purpose.  I liked the jumping around parts, but the music still isn't really my thing."

"You gave it a shot though," Duncs says. "That's more than most people."

Brent grins wider, feeling especially proud of himself. "Are any of your teammates into that kind of stuff?"

"Not really," Duncs says. "Sometimes they let me pick the music in the locker room or on a roadtrip, but then I just stick to AC/DC or Metallica or whatever."

"Huh," Brent says. "I guess you gotta go easy on them."

"Well, they aren't big tough guys like you," Duncs says.

Brent ignores the dripping sarcasm and lift his water glass and tips it to Duncs. "Why thank you, sir."

They keep messing around until their food comes, throwing balled up pieces of the paper place mats at each other and arguing about who's laid the biggest hits on the ice. Duncs was right, their burgers are weirdly good for how run down the place is and how surly the waitstaff are.

"I occasionally know what I'm talking about," Duncs says when Brent mentions it.

"Only occasionally though, if you really think laying out some dude who hasn't topped 5'10" is as impressive as knocking out a behemoth from Lethbridge," Brent says.

Duncs kicks him under the table, and Brent has to kick him back. That results in a war that has their knees knocking the table around, and half of Brent's fries fall off his plate, so he grabs a fistful of Duncs's off his plate.

"Hey!" Duncs yells, grabbing Brent by his wrist. "Just because you can't keep your food on your plate doesn't mean you can steal mine!"

"It was your knee that knocked them off, you totally owe me," Brent replies, refusing to let go of the fries. There's a brief tussle before they both realize at almost the same time that they're basically holding hands in the middle of the restaurant. Duncs lets go at the same time Brent drops the fries, which at this point are mostly just a squished glob of potatoes.

He wipes his greasy hand on a napkin. His wrist feels cold where Duncs let go. "Coach would probably say we shouldn't eat that crap anyway."

"Yeah, uh, mine too," Duncs says, picking up his burger. "But what they don't know won't hurt 'em."

"And we're growing boys, we need to eat," Brent says.

"Right," Duncs agrees, taking a bite of his burger.

They eat mostly in silence after that, and Brent feels awkward and self conscious, like he did the first time he and Duncs spoke. He thought they were past that.

By the time the waitress comes by with the check, Brent is wondering if they're ever going to talk again. He hadn't realized how quickly he'd come to enjoy spending time with Duncs. They haven't even mentioned their project in days, they've just been talking and emailing and... being friends. Brent hates the idea of going back to ignoring each other.

Things get a little less awkward when neither of them can do the math to figure out how much the tip should be, and eventually Brent gives up and breaks out his phone calculator.

"Well now that we've confirmed every dumb jock stereotype there is, I'm gonna take a piss and then we can go," Duncs says, getting up from the table.

"Yeah, me too," Brent says, throwing one more dollar down.

"Holy shit," he says in awe, catching sight of himself in the mirror when they walk in. The bruise around his eye is ugly as hell. It's awesome. "I hope it didn't ruin your appetite, Duncs."

"Uh, no. Not really. I'm pretty used it, I guess," Duncs says not looking over at him.

"Yeah, but this black eye is like, legit. I think I even broke a vessel in my cheek, look." Duncs doesn't, but when Brent glances away from the bruising on his eyebrow, wow, he sees it's because he's concentrating very hard on pissing. Brent steps up to the urinal next to him, and when they're both washing their hands he can't help saying, "Seriously though, I look like a badass, right?"

Duncs meets his glance in the mirror briefly. "You look like you got punched in the face. If that's what a badass looks like, then I guess."

Brent laughs and bumps his shoulder. "Dude, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you'd make the worst wing man ever."

"Yeah, uh, picking up girls isn't really my strong suit," Duncs says.

"Why not, dude? There's gotta be some metal chicks who'd dig your hair. And you can't tell me you don't look good in comparison when you've got Patty Kane on your team."

"Yeah... it's not so much that I'm bad at it as I... don't want to."

"Oh, no, yeah, that's cool. Focusing on hockey and stuff, I get it." Brent can understand not wanting to deal with the drama of high school girls, especially during hockey season.

"I'm gay, Seabs."

Brent is a little floored. "Wait. Like. For real?"

"No, it's something I go around telling people because it makes me more popular," Duncs says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and not meeting Brent's eye.

"Girls like it," Brent says, not really thinking. "I mean. Not that that helps you. But this one time-" He cuts himself off, because that's not the point right now. "Thanks for telling me. I mean. I get that it's kind of a big deal."

Duncs shrugs. "We should probably get going."

"Oh, right, yeah. Standing around in the bathroom is kind of weird anyway." Brent doesn't know what to say as he follows Duncs out to his truck.  He doesn't want Duncs to think he's some kind of asshole, but Duncs isn't exactly giving off vibes that say he wants to have a conversation about it right now.

Duncs turns on the engine as soon as he's in the truck, almost before Brent has even shut his door.

"Hey, I swear it's cool, man." Brent says.

"Cool," Dunc says, gunning the engine on the way out of the parking lot.

"And hey, you still look good when you're standing next to Pat Kane," Brent says.

That gets a little grin out of Duncs and Brent relaxes a little.

 

The ride home is mostly quiet, but it's not as tense.

"You're the only one at Delta who knows," Duncs says suddenly breaking the silence.

Brent nods, "I won't tell anyone. I mean, It's not my place."

Duncs nods. "Thanks."

Brent is quiet for a second, til he remembers something Erica Kane said. "Were you...out? at Langley?"

"Kind of. Some of the guys on the team know, I mean."

"Cool. That's good."  

Duncs nods. It's not long after that that he pulls up in front of Brent's house. He puts his truck in park and taps his fingers unevenly on the steering wheel. "Well, I guess I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah, definitely. I had fun tonight, thanks. It was cool seeing what you do for fun." He winces as he accidentally knocks his hand against his face. "Even with all the bodily harm."

"Um, that was a little abnormal," Duncs says.

"The fun or the bodily harm?" Brent teases.

"Uh," Duncs says.

"Kidding, Duncs. Everyone knows bodily harm is fun. We're hockey players," Brent grins and punches him on the shoulder.

Duncs manages a grin in return and punches him lightly back. "You gonna make up a cool excuse for that shiner?"

"Nah, I'll just tell 'em you gotta take your lumps if you wanna party with Duncan Keith." The light in Brent's living room goes on and the silhouette of his mother appears in the window. "Maybe I'll tell my mom I was rescuing orphaned kittens, though. I should probably head in before she starts pacing."

"Yeah," says Duncs. "See you."

Brent grins at him and jumps out of the truck. "Night, Duncs." 

"Night." Duncs waits until Brent opens his front door before putting his truck in gear and heading home.

It isn't til Brent is going to bed that he realizes he's still wearing Duncs's leather cuff.  He takes it off and tosses it on his desk. He'll give it back Monday.

 

They finish up their history paper that week, between discussions of their fantasy teams and anything that isn't their paper, too. Brent keeps meaning to bring Duncs his cuff, but he always thinks of it right before bed, and that's not so helpful in the morning.

Duncs is weird and quiet the day after they hand it in, so Brent kicks his chair when the teacher's back is turned and mouths, "what's up?"

Duncs just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, like he didn't totally blank Brent in the hallway before lunch, or refuse to take off his headphones off before class started.

"What's up, man?" Brent asks when they break into small groups to do some work sheet.

"Nothing," Duncs says, writing his name on the paper.

"You were back to being angry bubble boy," Brent says.

He actually looks up at that, but just to raise an eyebrow. Brent just stares back and Duncs sighs, "I got a new album I'm really into, that's all."

Brent doesn't quite buy it, but he's not gonna call him on it.  If Duncs doesn't want to talk to him, he guesses he can't make him.  It does make the worksheet an even bigger drag to complete, though. Duncs won't discuss anything that's not Canadian history, not even the fact that Delta is playing Langley's big division rival on Saturday, and he had been almost gleeful about that on Tuesday. Once class is over he follows Duncs out to his locker, even though he can tell he's being purposefully ignored.

"Look, Duncs," he says quietly, leaning against the next locker over. "If I said anything stupid or, you know, insensitive to you, I'm sorry. I'm not aiming to be an asshole, but I know I say dumb shit sometimes."

Duncs keeps on exchanging his books for his next class, but he does glance over at Brent. "You're not an asshole."

"I don't mean to be, but like, sometimes I am, and you just have to call me on it," Brent says. "I mean it."

"You're not an asshole," Duncs repeats. "You're being kind of a needy fuck right now, but--"

"Fuck you, needy," Brent says shoving him. Then he catches sight of the schedule taped to the locker door. "Hey, you guys are doing the invitational next week, too?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," Duncs says.

"Dude, it's gonna be awesome! But don't think I'll go easy on you if you come floating out of your zone."

"I don't float," Duncs says, disgusted.

"I'm just saying, keep your head up, man. I'm not gonna let up any just because I like you."

Duncs slams his locker shut. "Yeah, you better not, because I'll be coming after you."

"Big words, tough guy." Brent knocks him on the back.  "We cool now?"

Duncs rolls his eyes. "We're fine, except for how you're making me late for class." Brent raises his hands and stands aside. 

 

Duncs is less weird after that, relatively at least. He'll nod at Brent in the hall, and lets himself be dragged to lunch with the rest of the Vipers a few times. They pump him for information about the teams from his league they'll be facing, and he does the same to them.

"It's gonna be so awesome," Brent says. "But man, I hope the other people staying at that hotel know what they're getting into."

"I hope your team knows what they're getting into," Duncs says.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just...beware of Patrick Sharp. That's all," Duncs says.

 

The reason why becomes clear when both teams are hanging out in the lobby of the hotel on the night before the tournament. There's an organized gathering for all the teams to mingle, but mostly it's an excuse for the teams to be loud and trash talk each other. Brent is with his team when the elevator door opens and Duncs rushes out, pursued by a guy with a mini water pistol. Duncs is laughing hard and dripping water all down the side of his face, and it's a far cry from the smirk that's usually the most Brent can get out of him.

The guy's pistol runs out of ammo just as Duncs races by the Delta team and Duncs crows triumphantly, wrestling it out of his hands.

"Oh, what now, Sharpy?" He grabs Sharp and puts the empty water gun up against his temple. When he sees Brent he grins and says, "See? I told you about this guy, Seabs."

"Oh, is this the famous Seabs?" Sharpy asks, elbowing Duncs in the chest to get free. "It's such an honor to finally meet you!"

Duncs elbows Sharpy back, and Brent laughs. Duncs usually isn't so...animated.

"Glad to hear that Duncs is spreading tales of my greatness," Brent says grinning.

Fraz snorts behind him and Brent has to hit him for that. 

"Modest, too," Duncs says dryly. The deadpan is ruined by the grin and casual set to his shoulders. It's a good look on him.

Duncs is looking a little red, too, but he was that color when he came in, so Brent isn't sure it means anything. Or what it would mean.

"Have you guys hit up the buffet yet?" Brent asks.

"Nope, but I think Kaner and some of the guys went ahead already," Duncs says. "You hungry?"

"I can always eat," Brent replies, and so they set out as a group. Brent ends up in line behind Sharpy and they hit it off well, teasing Duncs and discussing the match ups for the tournament. Sharpy holds up the line at the end trying to chat up the girl in charge of cutting the roasts under the heat lamps. She's not having any of it, as she's seen a hundred teenage boys try the same thing already this evening, but Sharpy's still giving it his best.

Brent jabs at him with his tray. "Come on man, quit embarrassing yourself. Some of us want some beef."

"I just can't believe such a beautiful lady would break my heart so callously this way." Sharpy swoons a little for good measure.

"Maybe she likes them scruffier than you. Not everyone goes for movie star good looks."

Duncs gives him a confused look before adding, "Or, you know, legal."

"She could be my Mrs. Robinson!" Sharpy insists. "Oh man, meatballs!"

"Sorry, dude, but I don't think you're hot enough to risk a lawsuit for," Brent says. "Apparently she agrees."

"Those are fighting words, Seabrook," Sharp says, pointing a skewered meatball threateningly.

And that's how he ends up in Duncs and Sharpy's room, wrestling after dinner.

Sharpy's yelling about defending his honor and Duncs is laughing at them from his bed, refusing to take sides. Eventually Brent gets a good grip on Sharpy's legs and tips him over onto the floor, but Sharp grasps on to Brent's shirt as he's losing his balance and pulls it most of the way over his head, dragging Brent down with him.

"Hey!" Brent yells, tangled up and trying to get free. "That's playing dirty!"

"Should have had your fight strap tied down. That's an extra penalty."

Brent finally manages to escape from his shirt and sits back on his heels, panting.

"He always this much of a weasel?" he asks Duncs, who's leaning back against his headboard with his knees up, watching them.

"You get used to him," Duncs replies. "I'm gonna grab a shower."

"You're not even the one working up a sweat, here," Brent says, pulling his shirt back on. "You're not gonna fight the winner?"

"Nah, I've got to get in before Sharpy takes over the whole bathroom in the morning, trying to make himself pretty."

"I'll do my best to ugly him up," Brent calls after Duncs.

They wrestle a little while longer, but it's not as much fun without Duncs laughing at them. But Brent doesn't want to leave while Duncs is in the shower, that'd just be rude.

So he lies on Duncs's bed to catch his breath while Sharpy sprawls out on his own, and they talk hockey and Sharp tells Brent about his dog and it's cool.

Duncs looks surprised to see Brent on his bed when he gets out of the shower. He's got a towel around his waist and he's dripping wet for the second time tonight. Brent is kind of surprised to realize that he's actually kind of built. It's all lean muscle and- 

He tears his eyes away when he realizes he's been staring. "Don't get mad at me for sweating on your covers, it's probably one of the least disgusting bodily fluids they've been exposed to."

He's seen CSI, he knows.

"Um, okay," Duncs says.

"Anyway, I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. So uh, bye, I guess. And I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Good luck and stuff." Duncs turns to fish through his bag and pulls out his sleep clothes. Sharpy appears to be laughing for no reason, but Brent guesses that's probably not out of character for him.

"You guys too. Except when you're playing us, right?"

"No, you'll need all the luck you can get if you think you're gonna stop us," Sharpy calls from his bed.

"Yeah, keep dreaming," Brent replies, checking to make sure he has his room key before he heads to the door.

 

They play a lot of hockey to get through the round robin to the final rounds, and by the time the Vipers are facing off against Langley, they've both guaranteed a spot in the next round, but they're playing for seeding.

He watched Duncs play against other teams and it was eye opening. Brent shouldn't be so blown away by how good he is, but he can't help it. He's just so fucking _fast_ , and the way he carries the puck over the blue line makes other teams look silly.

Still, he's determined that Duncs won't make him look silly, so he's extra geared up for this game. They're eyeing each other across the ice, and it's not exactly friendly, but there's an excitement there for sure. Brent knows this is gonna be a good game.

He's not disappointed, either. Kane puts one past their goalie about half way through the first, but Brouwer deflects one of Brent's shots from the point not even two minutes into the second and it's basically a battle of attrition from there. Duncs plasters him up against the boards when he's pinching in one time and Brent is pretty sure his entire side is going to be black and blue.

The game is still tied with five minutes left in the third when Duncs gets called for cross checking in front of his net. He's obviously pissed about the call as he skates to the box, but this is Delta's chance to put the game away.

Brent is on point, and Brouwer's doing everything he can to crash the net while Ladd waits for the outlet pass. 

The Langley goalie blocks most of their attempts. Some are just so fucking lucky it's insane, but just as his shift is coming to an end, Brent chips a shot over the sticks of two defense men and Ladd is able to flick it to the top shelf.

Brent lets out a roar and goes to pile on Ladd before heading to the bench for the next face off.

He can't help but notice how pissed Duncs looks in his own zone. Brent almost feels bad.

Almost.

The rest of the game is played at an absolutely furious pace, and Duncs seems to be doing his utmost to will the puck into the net. It's to no avail though, and as the final horn sounds Brent is surrounded by Brouwer and Ladd and the rest of team. They'll meet Langley again in the semifinals, if they both get there, but for now Brent is happy to go give Carey a head-tap and head back to the locker room to celebrate.  
   
He passes Duncs on his way to the zamboni tunnel though, and he looks even more unapproachable than back when they first met. Even his teammates are steering clear. Brent wants to go over and say something, but he figures that probably wouldn't be very appreciated just now. He watches as Sharpy skates up and bumps into him gently. He lets himself get caught up in the rush of his teammates and heads in toward the dressing room.

The whole team is stoked, because any win is a good win, and they're a high seed.  They've got a great shot at the finals, too.  It's hard for Brent not to get caught up in that energy, but he has to admit, he's not looking forward to playing against Duncs again.

There's an awkward moment as both teams line up to get on the buses back to the hotel, one team excited and chattering, the other sullen and annoyed. Brent tries to catch Duncs's eye, but he won't look away from the bus windows.  Brent huffs, and goes back to laughing with his teammates.

 

There's no mingling of teams at dinner that night. The lines are strictly drawn, but that doesn't stop Brent from balling up his straw wrapper and flicking it at Duncs.

It bounces off Duncs’s arm and lands on his plate. He looks up, ready to be pissed, but when he sees Brent watching him expectantly he restrains himself to just glowering and flipping him off, but low enough so the coaches don't catch him. Brent smiles hopefully and eventually Duncs rolls his eyes and tosses the wrapper back at him.

After dinner Brent manages to work it so they're riding the same elevator back to their rooms. They aren't alone of course, but he stands next to Duncs and jostles their shoulders together as people get in and out. 

"Sorry about the game, dude," Brent says once the elevator is mostly empty.

"No you're not," Duncs says, staring at the rising numbers.

"Well, not about winning, but sorry we had to beat you. It was a good game," Brent tries.

"Hrmph," Duncs grunts.

"And you were like totally awesome. Thanks for the hit by the way. I've got a nice bruise up on my side here," Brent lifts his shirt. Duncs flicks his eyes over but they flick back to the doors quickly.

"Do you go around showing everyone your bruises, or am I just special?"

Brent flushes. "I'm just saying, it was a good hit, thought you might like to see your handiwork." The elevator stops at his floor and he looks back at Duncs as he steps out. "You'll kill 'em tomorrow, I know it."

Duncs nods determinedly. "You too," he says as the doors slide close.

The Vipers are playing first thing the next morning. It kind of blows, because warm ups happen before Brent is even really awake. The other team doesn't wake up til after the first intermission, and by then they've pretty much put the game away already. Brent has two points already, and so does Laddy. They can just coast from there.

After the game, the rest of the team heads back to the hotel to nap, but Langley's playing next, and the winner will be playing the Vipers the next morning, so he stays to watch. He's scouting.

Watching Duncs on the ice is mesmerizing. He always seems to be in the right place, breaking up passes or depriving someone of the puck. Brent's eyes barely leave him whenever he's on the ice. When Duncs engineers a power play goal, Brent is jumping up cheering as loud as anyone. 

He can tell when Duncs notices that he's there, because he's skating off the ice after a stoppage and he stutter-steps just a fraction as he glances up at Brent's section of the stands. Brent grins and waves, and he's fairly certain that under his helmet Duncs smiles back.

Langley pots two more goals on top of their power play one, and though the other team gets one back with their goalie pulled, at the end of the game they're advancing to face the Vipers. 

He ends up hitching a ride back to the hotel on their shuttle, just because he can. He doesn't need to change or anything, so he's first one on, and the Langley guys mostly pretend they don't see him as they board.

Sharpy gives him a nod, and when Duncs gets on the bus he hesitates for a minute, glancing back at his teammates before dropping into the seat next to Brent.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Brent says grinning. "You were awesome out there."

"Thanks," Duncs says, ducking his head. "I didn't see your game, but you guys won, yeah?"

"Yeah, rematch tomorrow," Brent says.

"Have you learned your lesson about pinching in?" Duncs asks.

"What? Hit you before you hit me?" Brent answers elbowing him.

Duncs elbows back and there's a mini tussle in the seats before Brent holds his hands up. "Truce! And may the best team win tomorrow."

"So Langley then," Duncs says.

"So definitely not Langley, then. I heard their number one defenseman is just terrible. What's his name, Luncan Deith?"

The teasing and bickering continues all the way to the hotel. As they're getting off the shuttle Sharpy comes up and bumps Duncs in the shoulder.

"Doing all right, Duncs?" he asks.

"Fine, Sharpy, jeez." He cuffs him over the head. Sharp laughs and aims a weak kick at his legs before heading into the hotel.

“What, does he think I'm trying to sabotage you?" Brent asks.

"He's just...Just making sure," Duncs says.

"Does he think he could take me? Because I thought we already established that I'm a superior physical specimen."

Duncs huffs and shakes his head at that. "Don't let him hear you say that unless you want to find yourself duct taped naked to a mattress in the lobby."

"Kinky," Brent says grinning.

"I guess," Duncs says. "Do you wanna uh, come watch a movie or whatever?"

Seas sighs, "I would, but I should get back to my guys before I'm accused of defecting."

"Oh, right, yeah, of course," Duncs says shoving his hands in his pockets.

"But maybe tomorrow, or when we get back home," Brent says. "It's not like we don't see each other every day."

Duncs nods. "Yeah, true. I guess I'll see you on the ice tomorrow, then."

"Better keep your head up, Keith."

There's an awkward moment where they don't quite know how to how to part ways, since they're not the kind of friends who bro hug, but Brent still feels weird just walking away. He ends up punching him halfheartedly in the shoulder.

 

The game the next day is a great reprisal of their first game, but at an even faster pace. The goal posts and cross bars are ringing at both ends of the ice as shots keep missing the net.

Brent isn't sure how many shots he's blocked, because honestly, his whole body is starting to feel like one big bruise. 

Patrick Kane elbows him in the gut as Brent muscles him off the puck and chips it up the boards to Ladd, who carries it into the Langley zone. Brent follows up to support, and when Duncs lifts Ladder's stick to steal the puck, Brent is there trying to hold him in the neutral zone a few extra seconds so his teammates have time to get back.

He knows they're near the boards, and he can tell he's pissing Duncs off by being everywhere Duncs tries to go, but he's not expecting Duncs to drop the puck back to his partner and try to just power through Brent like he's a paper bag.

But he does, and next thing Brent knows, he's flat on his back and can't catch his breath.

The ref whistles the play dead, and the whole arena is suddenly quiet. He tries to sit up, but the trainer is already there holding his shoulders to the ice.

A few people are shouting "Seabs!" but one gets a "Hey, back off, you've done enough already."

The trainers and doctors are asking him all sorts of questions about where it hurts and if he can feel various parts of his body, but he still can't catch his breath enough to answer them. He just shakes his head and tries to get up again. His tailbone is screaming at him, but nothing else hurts any more than it did before he was down on the ice.

The trainers let him stand on the condition that he go back to the locker room to get checked out, and he manages to grin at the cheers and stick taps everyone gives him. He catches sight of Duncs’s face where he's hovering behind the rest of Brent's team and he looks sick with worry. Brent tries to give him a wave, but the trainers have both his arms over their shoulders as they help him off the ice.

It only takes a minute of sitting with his head between his knees to catch his breath enough to tell them he's fine. They're glad he thinks so, but they still have to check his ribs, which means he's stuck in the back when the crowd roars above them. He tries to hear the announcer, but can't tell who scored or even what team.

"So can I go back out?" Brent asks, pulling his pads and jersey back on.

"Yeah, you're clear," the trainer says.

Brent tried to tell them that, but they didn't believe him, and now he's missed a huge goal. A huge Langley goal, he sees, when he gets back out to the rink.

Fuck.

By the time he's back on the bench the game is in the waning half of the third and it's starting to get desperate. Brent is playing with it all on the line, but having to sit out those minutes has messed with his rhythm. He's just a fraction of a second slower than he feels he should be and it's hard to push past the frustration. Delta pulls their goalie with about a minute and a half to play, but it's no good. Langley owns the final score 1-0.

The team gathers around for quick fist bumps while they wait for Langley to finish jumping on each other enough to start the handshake line. Everyone's glad to see Brent back on the ice and not injured, so they have a little something to be glad about. The team is still pissed at Duncs and keep offering to sucker punch him during the handshakes for Brent, even though he tries to tell them it wasn't on purpose. He looks across the ice where Duncs is grinning with Sharpy and Kane and the rest of them and feels a weird pang in his chest. Losing sucks.

He wants to be happy for Duncs -- it should be easy when he's smiling like that -- but he can't get get out from under the pain of losing.

The handshake line is rough. Brent likes it so much better when he's on the smiling side of the line. The Langley guys aren't being dicks about it, which is good, because they're all staying at the same hotel. Brent's guys are definitely giving Duncs the cold shoulder as they pass him in the line, and fuck. Brent doesn't want that.

He catches Duncs looking down the line for him, and tries to shoot him a smile, but Duncs doesn't seem to get it. When they reach each other in the line, Duncs starts to say "I'm so sorry, Seabs. I didn't mean to--"

Brent just grabs him and pulls him in for a hug. "I know Duncs, it's okay. I'm fine. Good game."

He feels Duncs freeze, even through all their respective padding, before he returns the hug gingerly. Neither team is very happy about them holding up the line, but whatever, they can deal for a few seconds. 

"Good game," Duncs replies. "Glad you're okay."

"Yeah, you'd have to hit me a lot harder than that to keep me down."

Their teams shove them apart and down the line so everyone can get off the ice, but Brent catches Duncs's eye as they leave the ice, and his smile doesn't sting the same way it did earlier.

 

The Vipers are kind of down, but when they realize they have a night in a hotel, without having to worry about playing a game the next day, the collective mood perks back up.

The party converges in Ladd and Brouwer's room, with no coaches and plenty of alcohol. Commiserating about their loss turns into recounting everybody's sweet moves throughout the tournament. Brent's two assists in the first Vipers game get him heartily toasted, as does his fortitude in coming back after the hit by that fucker Keith.

Brent tries to protest that he's not a fucker and it wasn't his fault, but the team is still too sore about losing to hear it. He keeps drinking and hanging out with his guys, but the drunker he gets, the more determined he is that Duncs should know he's great. Eventually he pulls out his phone and sends him a text.

"ur nott a fuckngi douchbag." He doesn't expect a reply because Duncs is almost certainly too busy celebrating his win. Or preparing for the final game they have tomorrow. Fuck. But his phone buzzes ten minutes later and it's a text from Duncs.

"...thanks? drink water, buddy."

Duncs is probably right about the water, but there isn't any. Only beer.

So he adds "if vieprs giv u shit tel me n ill deal w thm"

Because his team can be assholes but he won't let them be assholes to Duncs for his sake. He doesn't want Duncs to feel bad. He wants Duncs to feel good.

He explains this to Troy between shotgunning beers, and Troy nods. "I know, Seabsie."

His phone buzzes again. "I can handle myself, but thanks. Don't be too hungover to watch me win tomorrow."

 

He is hungover, and the arena is just so bright. Half of the Vipers are still in bed, but the rest are up and willing to check out the competition.

Brent is just glad Langley isn't in white. It makes watching Duncs a whole lot easier.

He cheers all the good Langley plays, even though it makes his head pound. The other team put up a two nothing lead in the first period, but Langley battles back to tie it in the second and third. Duncs is all over the place throwing hits and breaking up passes, and Brent can't help but admire him. He looks so confident and in control out on the ice. The momentum has turned and it's looking like Langley are going to pull out the come from behind win when a giant collision in the neutral zone leads to a breakaway for the other team's best player and he roofs it right into the water bottle with less than four minutes to play.

The last minutes tick down with no change in score and Langley are officially the tournament runners up. Brent watches Duncs mill around sadly on the ice with his team, knocking helmets and tapping shins, and for one sharp moment really wishes they were on the same team, so he could commiserate with him and flick his helmet until he stops looking so sad.

He heads down out of the stands and goes to wait around outside the dressing rooms until Duncs emerges.

Duncs looks surprised to see him there, but Brent doesn't understand why. Of course he was going to watch Duncs play.

"Hey," Brent says. "Bummer."

"Yeah," Duncs agrees as he brushes some hair out of his face. "Surprised you made it out of bed."

Brent scoffs, "Please, you think I'm still in Bantam?"

"Judging by your spelling last night?" Duncs asks.

Brent just rolls his eyes. "You were good out there."

"Thanks," Duncs says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"For real, we'd kill if you were on the Vipers."

It's Duncs's turn to snort. "Maybe you should join the Lancers, I mean, we're obviously the superior team."

"You think one tournament decides anything?" Brent asks. "And it took a cheap shot to get our best defenseman off the ice so you guys could score."

Instead of arguing with him about how the hit was totally legal -- it was -- the humor falls off Duncs's face. "I didn't mean to, Seabs, I really didn't and you-"

"Duncs, relax! It's hockey, it happens sometimes. And I'm fine now. I mean, besides the soreness and the hangover and everything."

Duncs doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't say anymore about it. "Hey, do you have to go back with your team or do you want to grab something to eat?" Brent asks.

"Yeah, no, um. I think my parents are taking me out to lunch, actually."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll see you back at the hotel then. Or school if not." Brent holds out a hand and when Duncs takes it he pulls him in for a half hug pat on the back. 

Duncs hesitates before returning the pat and then stepping back. "See you later, Seabs."

 

Brent doesn't see him back at the hotel, since everyone's scrambling to make sure they have all their stuff before checkout, and the lobby is a zoo. Duncs could be down there, but there's no way to tell.

He falls into his bed the second he gets home, and wakes up for dinner and theoretically to do some homework. But as he stares at his computer screen, and then back down at his history assignment, the effort just isn't there.

He sends an email to Troy and Ladd to see if they've started it yet. And then he sends one to Duncs, just because.

Duncs emails him back with a link to the source he's using, but also a link to Stamkos scoring a ridiculous spin-o-rama goal against the Habs in a recent game. Brent replies with a video of Ryan Miller making about 14 point blank saves in 5 seconds and they're off, trading videos back and forth in between homework questions.

After Duncs sends him Shea Weber blasting a shot straight through the net to score, Brent watches it five times in a row.

"now thats just hot," he replies. "i bet you'd let him put it through your net, huh"

Duncs takes longer than usual to reply, and Brent starts to wonder if he shouldn't have joked about that. After a couple minute though, Brent's email alert pops up.

"maybe not, that sounds painful. he is pretty hot though."

"guess you're right. Would you pop his water bottle?"

The reply comes faster this time. "you can only do that to a goalie."

Brent laughs at the computer screen. "Ryan Miller then."

"only cause they didn't beat canada."

"your patriotism will be rewarded one day" Brent replies.

"sure as hell hope so. I'm done with my homework, gonna go pass out. See you tomorrow."

"see you." Brent replies. He sighs and spins in his chair before scribbling down some answers on his sheet and calling it done.

He tosses his pen on his desk, and it bounces off Duncs's wrist cuff from like, forever ago. He really needs to give that back.

 

Going back to school after the tournament sucks, because they have to catch up on all the stuff they missed as well as the stuff they're supposed to be learning now. Lunch becomes a homework factory for a day or two, with people sharing answers and textbooks along with stealing each others' french fries.

Brent is glad that Duncs is right in the mix and that no one is giving him a hard time for being on the team that knocked them out of the tourney. Or at least, no one is giving him a malicious hard time. Apparently the guys think it's funny to elbow Brent in the deepest bruise over his ribs and then blame Duncs for giving it to him in the first place. Brent's ribs don't think it's funny at all.

"Party at my place Saturday," Ladd says on Wednesday.

Brent holds back a groan. He's been having fantasies about sleeping for a solid 48 hours.

But apparently being quiet doesn't keep the look off his face.

"Oh come on, Seabs, don't be a wuss. Keith's coming and he played more than we did."

Duncs looks surprised to have the conversation suddenly focused on him. Or maybe it's his assumed attendance. Either way, it takes a second for him to speak up. "I promise not to hit you this time."

Everyone just thinks that's hilarious, and Fraz is quick to jump in. "Don't go making promises you can't keep. Sometimes he deserves it."

Brent protests, but is quickly and forcibly overruled. He hopes by Saturday that his bruises will have mostly faded, or it could be an uncomfortable night.

 

He shows up at Ladd's with a two four of Moosehead and a bottle of tequila from the shady liquor store that doesn't card. It feels like ages since he's hooked up with anyone and tonight he is a man on a mission.

Ladd whoops when he comes in with his haul, and Duncs raises his eyebrows.

"Now you know why I had to come," Brent says dropping the beer in a cooler. "I'm the only one of these candy asses that looks like a grown ass man."

That's not entirely true, as evidenced by the beer and assorted alcohol already filling the Ladd kitchen, but its true enough. He rubs at his stubble -- it adds at least three years, but it itches.

Duncs laughs, "Your sacrifice is much appreciated."

"Thanks, buddy. Now hand me a cold one."

Many beers and a shot or two later, Brent and Ladd are working on a couple of girls Brent recognizes from his math class last year.

"You should really tell your friend to give Ladder here a chance," Brent says conspiratorially to the brunette, Kelsey. Or maybe Chelsea? "He's a great kisser."

Both girls laugh. "What, do you have his dates fill out surveys?" the blonde asks.

"I never trust second hand information," Brent says. "I would only make such a recommendation based on my own personal experience."

"No way," the blonde says.

"This I gotta see," Chelsea says.

"Ladies, please," Ladd cuts in. "We're not show ponies. We don't perform on demand. Unless..."

The blonde clearly knows where this is going, but Chelsea looks slightly confused.

"The price of admission," Brent says, "to see us two demonstrate our affection is a kiss from each of you beautiful ladies."

Kelsey still looks doubtful. "You two have to kiss first. I don't want you backing out once you've gotten a kiss."

"And no bullshit peck on the lips, either," the blonde chimes in. "It has to be a real kiss."

In response, Brent takes Ladd by the back of the neck and slants his mouth over Ladd's lips. Ladd steadies himself with an arm at Brent's waist and kisses back. Both their lips are chapped and taste like beer, but it still feels nice. After five seconds or so they pull back and face the girls triumphantly.

"Did that meet your standards?" Brent asks. The girls both giggle and agree, now willing to pay their fee with interest.

The initial payment goes well enough -- her lips are soft and she's wearing something sweet, and giggles when Brent suggests heading somewhere a little quieter.

He doesn't stick around to see how Ladd's doing, just weaves through the crowd holding Chelsea's hand.

"Shit, sorry man," Brent says after bumping into Duncs who is just like, standing by a door totally not moving. He didn't even protect his beer.

"I- Uh. Sorry," Duncs says. "Sorry about your shirt."

"No problem, I'll talk to you later," Brent says, shoving Duncs in Brouwer's direction. He's glad his friends get along with Duncs now. Otherwise he'd feel bad ditching him, but Kelsey's really hot, in like, a nerdy way.

"Oh wow," she says. "Your shirt's like half Molson."

"Mhmm," Brent says. "I should probably take it off before it gets all gross."

He makes a mental note that Duncs is actually a _great_ wingman.

Kelsey -- and a closer examination of her necklace as he kisses his way down her throat reveals it really is Kelsey -- seems to appreciate him even more without his shirt on. They seem to have ended up in Ladd's sister's room. Since she's gone off to college, Brent doesn't think she'd mind. They settle on the bed and continue kissing.

"So, did you and Andrew like, date?" she asks breathlessly as he works at getting her bra undone.

"What? Oh, no, no. I don't like him like that. He's just a friend. And you're way hotter than he is anyway." He finally gets the clasp open and makes a triumphant little sound that sets Kelsey giggling. All thoughts of Ladd disappear pretty quickly after that.

 

When they emerge from the bedroom some time later the party is still in full swing. Brent doesn't see Ladd or Duncs, which he assumes is a good thing (get some, boys) until Kelsey's blonde friend appears out of nowhere with red eyes and blurred makeup and drags her into the bathroom.

At a loss for what to do, he goes into the kitchen for another beer and finds Ladd already holding one and a mixed drink with a dismayed expression on his face.

"I don't think they're going to be very friendly on Monday, sorry," he says as Brent approaches.

"What did you do? You looked like you were doing fine when I left."

"I don't even know, man. One minute we were talking about heading out to the porch and the next thing I know she was crying and running away."

"Must have gotten an actual look at your face with the lights on," Brent teases, but he pats him on the back sympathetically.

"Fuck, if the most action I get tonight is with you, I'm going to break something," Ladd groans.

"Oh Andy, you sure know how to make a boy feel special," Brent coos, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"Go be smug somewhere else," Ladd says, shoving him off. “And don't call me that.”

"Somebody's cranky," Brent says. "Hey, have you seen Duncs?"

"Yeah, I think he took off. He was looking pretty beat."

"Oh." Brent wasn't expecting that. "He look okay to drive?"

Ladd shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. He doesn't live that far away."

Brent checks his phone, but Duncs hasn't texted him or anything to say he was going. Probably didn't want to disturb him.

"sleep tight lamer" Brent taps out.

Well if Duncs is gone, and Ladd's going to be a wet blanket, Brent needs to find someone else to be fun with, because it's a fucking party.

 

The next morning after Brent wakes up and brushes the dead and decaying taste out of his mouth, he logs on to his computer and sees Duncs in his chat window.

Me: hey you doing okay?  
Duncs: yeah fine. why?  
Me: you left pretty early last night  
just wanted to check you werent dying  
Duncs: nope still alive and well  
Me: good.  
Sent at 11:09  
Me: you doing anything today?  
Duncs: not really.  
homework.  
Me: ugh, yeah.  
you wanna come over and watch a movie or something?  
my dad found the Hunt For Red October in the $5 bin the other day.  
Sent at 11:16  
Me: you don't have to or anything  
Duncs: no, that sounds good. i'll head over once i've finished my math?  
Me: cool man, whenever.  
just give me a call so i know when i need to hop in the shower  
Duncs: uh, sure

He's looking forward to hanging out with Duncs like, just the two of them without homework being a thing. Or threats of getting punched in the face.

He runs down to the rec room to make sure it's not too gross, and runs into his mom on the way back up out of the basement.

"Since when are you this excited about doing laundry?" she asks.

"Huh? Oh, no, just making sure Keith and his friends haven't destroyed the rec room," Brent says. "Duncs is coming over, we're gonna watch a movie."

"I see," his mom says. "Well, while you're straightening up, put this in the wash, would you?"

Brent staggers a little under the load of the laundry basket. "Sure mom," he says, like he has a choice in the matter.

His phone buzzes around the time he's got the whites sorted.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Duncs says. "I'm finished with my homework, I'll be over in like, twenty minutes?"

"Cool, sounds good," Brent replies, shoving the load of laundry into the machine. "Are you gonna be hungry? I can throw a pizza in the oven or something."

"Nah, not unless you're hungry. Maybe later."

"Definitely later. See you when you get here."

"'Kay, cool."

Brent gives another glance around the room to make sure nothing's out of place and then feels dumb. Duncs isn't going to care if everything's not spic and span. He's probably not even going to notice.

Keith's in the bathroom doing Brent doesn't even want to know what and Brent has to pound on the door to get him out. "I need to take a shower! Measure your pencil dick in your own room."

"I'm telling mom you said that," Keith says as he opens the door with a glare.

"No you're not," Brent says shoving his brother out. There's no way he's saying "pencil dick" to mom.

"You suck," Keith says, stomping off to his room.

Brent knows how to take a quick shower, and he does, but his hair is still dripping wet when he hears the doorbell ring.  He grabs the nearest shirt and pulls it over his head before running down the stairs.

He must look kind of weird, because Duncs gives him a strange look when he opens the door. "Sorry, just got out of the shower."

"Am I early?" Duncs asks.

"No, my brother was in the bathroom so I couldn't- Anyway. Uh, welcome to my house?" Brent says. "I should probably let you in, huh?"

They head downstairs and Brent shows Duncs the movie cabinet.

"Red October is good," Duncs shrugs. "It's the best Jack Ryan movie."

"Oh for sure," Brent grins as he loads up the DVD player. They settle next to each other on the couch and watch the movie start.

As Sean Connery redefines the Russian accent and Alec Baldwin runs around trying to get someone to listen to him, Duncs and Brent both sprawl out as they get more comfortable. The couch isn't that big, but it's overstuffed and the springs are broken in at all the right places so they end up never wanting to move again.

He's warm and comfy, the dryer's going and his whole side is warm from Duncs's body. They're not really touching, except for their legs and arms, but everywhere they are is really warm.

It's getting dark as Alec Baldwin convinces them to do a Crazy Ivan, and when Brent says, "I wish this was Harrison Ford," his voice seems extra loud.

"He was busy being Indiana Jones," Duncs says.

"I guess," Brent says. "But the best Jack Ryan should be in the best Jack Ryan movie." He lets his head turn toward Duncs as he finishes.  
Duncs turns to face him, but doesn't actually say anything. They just stare at each other as the TV flickers in front of them. Brent feels like there's something he should be doing, something he's forgetting.

"I'm hungry," Duncs says suddenly.

Brent leans into Duncs's shoulder in order to get his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and when he puts it back away they stay leaning together with their heads almost touching for a minute, until Duncs coughs and straightens up, shifting to lean on his other arm on the back of the couch.

Once the movie's ended and James Earl Jones has made everything go away, Brent jumps up and claps Duncs on the shoulder.

"Come on, buckaroo. Let's go make a pizza."

Duncs stands, but doesn't follow him up the stairs immediately, so Brent looks back.

"Did you say something?"

"Huh? No, just stunned that anyone under the age of eighty used the word 'Buckaroo'," Duncs says.

"Don't be a hater," Brent grins. "Now come on, I'm starving."

They throw the pizza in the oven and then hop up on the kitchen counter while they impatiently wait the twenty minutes for it to be done.

"Oh, hey, I never got a chance to thank you for spilling that beer on me last night," Brent says. Duncs gives him a weird look.

"What?"

"Yeah, totally smooth way to take my shirt off. Sealed the deal." He smirks at Duncs, but Duncs doesn't really return it.

"Uh, sure. No problem."

"You make a great wing man," Brent says but Duncs doesn't seem to recognize the compliment Brent is trying to give him.

They sit in silence watching the timer tick down until Duncs asks, "Do you do that a lot?"

"Do what?" Brent asks. "Get laid? Not as much as I'd like, but you know."

"No, I mean, kiss guys," Duncs clarifies.

"Oh, I dunno," Brent shrugs. "Sometimes, like I said, chicks are into it, and sometimes we can get them to make out, too, which everyone appreciates."

Duncs looks like he's about to say something else, but Brent's mom comes in and sighs. "Brent, get off the counter. We have plenty of perfectly serviceable chairs that we don't prepare food on."

They both hop down sheepishly. "And introduce me to your friend."

"Oh yeah, Mom, this is Duncan Keith. Duncs this is my mom."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Duncs says, offering his hand. Brent's mom is clearly charmed.

"Suzanne, please. Now, are you boys eating me out of house and home?"

"It's one pizza, Mom, come on."

Suzanne laughs and rolls her eyes. "So long as it's only the one. Is Duncan staying for dinner?"

Brent looks to Duncs for an answer.

"Um, I hadn't really-"

"You finished your homework, right?" Brent asks.

"Yeah, I just-" Duncs stops. "Okay, yeah, I just gotta text my mom."

"Oh good," Suzanne says. "It'll be nice to get to know some of Brent's friends that aren't Vipers."

"Yeah, I uh, play for Langley," Duncs says.

"You're the one that destroyed Brent!" Keith says from the doorway.

"I'm gonna destroy _you_ ," Brent says. He doesn't understand why everyone's so hung up on that one hit.

By the time Brent has chased Keith back to his room and his mom has yelled at them for fighting in the house, the pizza's ready. They sit at the table, trying to balance their desire to wolf it down with their desire not to burn the roofs of their mouths.  
   
Once the edge of their hunger has worn off, around the second slice, Brent licks the sauce off his lower lip and says, "Sorry about my brother. He's kind of a pain in the ass."  
   
Duncs shrugs. "Isn't that the point of little brothers?"

"Spoken like a younger brother," Brent says, frowning.

"Middle child," Duncs corrects. "But little sisters are different, I think."

"Less annoying."

"I wouldn't go that far," Duncs says. "But not as much with the following you around trying to be just like you."

"So your sister wears colors other than black?" Brent teases.

Duncs flicks a pepperoni at him. "My sister won't wear anything that doesn't have a picture of a horse on it."

"Is that why your hair's so long, so she can pretend you're her pony?"

Duncs reflexively shoves his hair out of his face. "My hair is not a _mane_."

Brent laughs at Duncs’s indignation and swipes the last slice of pizza.

Dinner goes well enough. Brent only gets yelled at for threatening his brother twice, and Duncs talks a little. Once he finally heads home, his mom says, "Duncan seems like a nice boy."

It's a dumb way to put it, but Brent mostly agrees.

"He's welcome back any time," his dad adds while he loads up the dishwasher.

"Um, cool," Brent says. "I'm gonna go do some reading for class."

 

He doesn't see Duncs until lunch the next day, when Brent drops between him and Ladd.

Ladd's still bitching about striking out at the party, and Brent's appearance doesn't really help. "-and then she starts crying for no reason while this one's already half undressed!"

"What did you say to scare her off?" Fraz asks, stealing some of Brent's grapes.

"Nothing, I swear! I just put my arm around her shoulder and asked if she wanted to go outside and she exploded."

Duncs snorts from Brent's other side, and everyone turns to look at him. "Well, you look exactly like her ex."

No one has any idea what he's talking about, so he has to continue. "He was a senior last year. I think he's in Ottawa somewhere now. Her locker was next to mine last year, and they were always there making out between classes."

Brent looks around, but none of this appears to ring any bells.

"Wow, you guys don't notice anything that goes on here that isn't related to the Vipers, do you?" Duncs asks.

Everyone shrugs. "We noticed you," Brent tries.

Duncs raises an eyebrow. "Because we got assigned to a project together."

"That's not true, I noticed you before. You were the-" but he can't exactly say "weirdo who thought he was too good for the Vipers" which is what he actually thought, so he falls silent.

"You were the badass everyone was too scared to talk to," Fraz interjects.  Duncs flushes uncomfortably.

"Luckily we're friends now and know you're not a badass after all," Brent grins.

"He badass'd you onto the ice pretty hard in the tourney," Ladd says, stealing one of his fries.

"It wasn't that badass!" Brent protests. He doesn't understand why everyone keeps bringing it up.

"It was kind of badass," Duncs says and Brent turns to gape at him.

"They thought he broke your ribs," Brouwer points out.

"I just had the wind knocked out me!" Brent says. "I could've told them they weren't broken, but they dragged me off the ice."

"Because Duncs knocked you on your ass," Fraz says. "Face it, you got owned."

Brent doesn't know why he's friends with such assholes.

He's working his way up to a perfectly good sulk when Duncs slides his slice of pie over.

Brent thinks it probably sets a bad example if he lets his feelings get bought by food, but it's not like he's going to turn down free pie.

"Hey," Ladd says, "the rink by my house has open skate tonight. Anyone in for a little skating around, maybe some three-on-three?"

"I'm up for it," Brent says and Duncs nods his agreement too.

Unfortunately it turns out the physics class that Fraz and Brouwer are in have a huge lab report due the next day, so everyone else is out. 

"Well that's not much fun," Ladd grumps. "I get enough of two-on-one drills in practice."

"I could give some of my guys a call, if you don't mind skating with the enemy," Duncs offers softly.

"Yeah, call Sharpy," says Brent. "I liked that guy."

"Everybody likes Sharpy," Duncs says. It sounded like Duncs was rolling his eyes, but Brent looks over too late to tell. He's already got his phone out to text him.

"Jealous, Duncs?" Brent asks as he elbows him. "You know I like you better."

That definitely gets an eye roll, but he doesn't actually respond to Brent, he just looks to Ladd when his phone vibrates. "Yeah, Sharpy's in."

"Cool," Ladd says. "Rematch from the invitational."

 

Brent is looking forward to getting some pride back from that lost, but as they lace up their skates that afternoon Sharpy suggests. "O versus D?"

"Too intimidated to play against me?" Ladd cracks.

"Nah, just thought you might need the help."

They skate around the rink a few times, warming up, and then it's game on. Before long they've all worked up a sweat, chasing each other over the ice and banging off each other and the glass.

After the first five minutes or so, Duncs seems to instinctively know where Brent will be on the ice, even on the wide open rink that 2-on-2 leaves. Their passes are even crisper than with Brent's usual D partner and pretty soon they're blowing Sharp and Laddy out of the water.

"How's that helping you're doing working out?" Duncs teases Sharpy as Brent dekes past him and pots another one.

"Just because we're not like, mind melded like you guys or whatever," Ladd protests.

"Green is an ugly color on you, Laddy," Brent says, skating around the back of the net. "Just because I've found my defensive soulmate in Duncs here is no reason to get so jealous."

"Oh Christ," Ladd says, rolling his eyes. And that's just begging for a noogie, though Ladd tries to fight him off with a face wash.

"You two would be insufferable on the same team," Sharp says.

"We'd be amazing!" Brent protests, and when he looks to Duncs for agreement he's just grinning and shaking his head.

"Sharpy's just afraid I like you better," Duncs says. That gets a cough from Sharp, and Duncs flushes a little.

"He may be prettier, but guys who know they're pretty are usually assholes," Brent says.

He isn't too surprised when Sharpy takes a run at him then.

From there it devolves into a friendly scrum, everybody trying to facewash everybody else. They end up in the corner of the rink, Duncs crushed up against Brent's back as Ladd tries to jab him up under the ribs, while Sharpy combines reaching over Brent's shoulder to push at Duncs with fending off Brent's attempted stick taps to the balls.

Eventually they manage to tip themselves off balance and collapse to the ice in a tangle of sticks and bodies. Duncs grunts as Brent's elbow lands in his gut while Brent finds himself with a mouthful of Sharpy's glove.

Brent shakes his head, dislodging Sharp's glove from his mouth and ends up chewing on Duncs's hair instead. It tastes better at least.

"You planning on getting up anytime, Sharpy?" Duncs asks, once he catches his breath.

"Eh, I'm not sure," he says from somewhere behind Brent's shoulder. "I like the symbolism of you all crushed beneath me."

Brent snorts and he realizes he can see the goosebumps forming where his breath hits Duncs's skin. It's fascinating and a little distracting, so it takes him a few extra seconds to realize the pressure on his back is gone and Ladd and Sharpy are back on their skates, leaving him free to stand.

He clambers up on his feet and turns to offer Duncs a hand. Duncs accepts but immediately bends down again to fix a skate lace that had apparently come loose. Sharpy skates a lazy loop from behind Brent up around Duncs until he drifts up to where Ladd was trying to balance the butt of his stick on the toe of his skate.

"What do you say we switch up the teams a little, try and even out the score?" he asks.

"Your ass is just chapped because you're no good on a team without me," Duncs grins, standing up finally.

"Ha, fuck you, Keith. Fine, Seabs, you're with me." Sharpy takes Brent by the elbow and skates them to center ice, picking up the forgotten puck on the way. "First one to five goals wins."

They slip back into the game easily, but it's a definite shift going from Duncs to Sharp by his side. It's not as easy as it was with Duncs, and there are a few more missed passes – especially the times when Brent pays more attention to finishing a check on Duncs than collecting the puck on his tape.

Ladd scores first when Brent can't lift his stick in time to take away the shot, but Sharp wins the next face off and dishes it back to Brent.

He gets past Ladd easily enough, and when Duncs comes barreling down on him, he flicks it over to Sharpy, who pots it easily.

They go back and forth for a few more rounds, til Duncs and Ladd have a 4-3 lead. Ladd fishes the puck out of the net, and bounces it on his stick a few times.

"Ready to get beat, Seabsie boy?"

"I think you mean ready to beat your ass, Laddy," he retorts.

"Yeah?" Ladd laughs. "You beat a lot of asses, do you?"

"Come on, quit yapping and let's do this," Duncs says as he puts his blade to the ice.

The hitting and jostling picks up now that Duncs and Ladd are playing for the win and there's a long stretch where they're all locked up against the boards, kicking and jabbing trying to get the puck free. Eventually Brent pokes it ahead just enough that Sharp can grab it for a free breakaway all the way down the ice and it's a tie game.

There's no talking before the next face off, they just immediately get back to it. Ladd wins the puck, but Brent is able to muscle him off of it easily. He takes a shot at the net- without a goalie it's got a good chance of going in, but Duncs goes streaking down the ice and manages to get his stick on it to deflect it wide.

Ladd picks it up behind the net and Duncs carries it back up the ice. Sharpy tries to poke check it as he crosses center ice, but Duncs keeps control. Brent is skating back as fast as possible, but when Duncs takes a shot from the blue line, he can't reach the puck. It's not even a real scrimmage, but he ends up sliding on his stomach across the ice, and the puck deflects off his out reached glove.

Duncs makes a noise between a grunt and a growl that has Brent grinning as he gets back to his feet.   
Sharpy's got the puck now, and is making a break for it. Ladd's doing his best to corral him, but Brent catches up to him and they've got a give and go as Ladd tries to defend them while Duncs skates after them.

Brent has a clean shot once they finally reach the circles and snaps it off over Ladd's out stretched stick and it hits the back of the net.

He throws his hands in the air grinning as Sharpy wraps him up in a hug. Ladd boos them cheerfully while fishing the puck out of the net. Duncs coasts up and knocks them both in the calf with his stick as he passes.

"How does that beating feel, hey, Laddy?" Brent calls.

"Like you eked out a win that could have gone either way, actually."

"I guess we'll have to do this again with guys who can actually take on Duncs and me," Brent grins, throwing an arm over Duncs's shoulder.

"You two do make quite the pair," Sharpy says, grabbing a water bottle.

Duncs makes an aborted noise in his throat, and Sharpy gives him a look that Brent doesn't quite understand. He does toss Duncs one of the other bottles which Brent makes grabby hands for. Duncs rolls his eyes but passes it over.

"Anyone else hungry?" Ladd asks.

Brent nods his head even as he sucks down the water. "But shower first."

The rink has a line of shitty showers that give you 20 seconds of lukewarm water at a time, so the showers are a fairly rush job. In the time honored tradition of communal showers, Brent focuses mostly on the faucet, but he can't help but notice that Sharpy and Duncs seem to be having a competition for who can portray the greatest number of emotions in a conversation that involves only their eyebrows.

Changing in the locker room involves the usual number of towel snaps and sweaty socks flung in each others' faces. Duncs looks a lot different when his hair's wet, and his chest looks really pale in comparison to the black jeans he's currently pulling on.

"Trying to get some tips on how to put your pants on, there?" Sharpy asks him, and Brent realizes with a start that he's kind of staring. "Don't worry, it can be a difficult skill to master."

He busies himself gathering up his skates and gloves. "Nah, I'm good. Your mom gave me a reverse demonstration last night."

Sharpy just snorts, "Yeah right, dude." He opens his mouth to say something else but Duncs throws a glove at his head, which just makes him smirk.

It's unfair for people to look that good when being that jerky.

"So where are we going to go?" Duncs asks, changing the subject once his shirt is on.

For Ladd and Brent, post practice food is always at the same diner. "Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?" Brent asks.

They pile into the diner and even though it's not a team practice, their usual waitress is there to give them their corner booth and automatically fill up their first round of coffee.

They order enough eggs and meat products to feed several families, and settle in to blow straw wrappers at each other until the food arrives.

"So, anything going on over at your school this weekend?" Ladd asks Sharp, flicking a balled up piece of napkin at his hair.

Sharpy shrugs. "We've got a game Saturday morning and then I have a bitch of a math test on Monday. Looks like it's not going to be my partyingest weekend."

"Sucks for you," Duncs says unsympathetically. 

"What about you, Duncs?" Brent asks. "You up for hanging out, or are you gonna ditch us for your old friends?"

"I see you guys every day," Duncs points out. "Is it really ditching?"

Ladd shrugs, which, whatever what does he know.

"Uh, yes?” Brent says, staring at him. “Besides, what are you going to do with those guys? Play video games in Patrick Kane's basement?"

"Sometimes," Duncs says.

Brent just snorts, "You'd rather do that than party with us?"

"Maybe," Duncs says, spearing a sausage. "Don't pretend you never play any video games. I've seen your Xbox."

"Yeah, but-"

"Pouting is beneath you, Seabs," Sharpy interrupts.

"Whatever, I was pouting beneath your mom last night."

Sharpy just looks a little queasy. "You're really not very good at that, are you."

Ladd and Duncs both shake their heads in agreement.  Luckily the waitress comes by to refill their mugs before Brent can work up into full outrage over this betrayal by his friends.

"So?" Brent asks as they pay the bill in a stack of crumpled bills.

"So what?" Duncs asks.

"Are you going to be awesome or lame this weekend?"

"I dunno," Duncs shrugs. "We'll see."

"There you go Duncs," Sharp says clapping him on the shoulder. "Play hard to get."

"Stop making trouble just because you can't have any fun this weekend," Duncs says.

 

He still won't commit at lunch on Friday. "It depends on how our game goes and what the boys have planned."

Brent sighs. "Well we're gonna be at Richards' place. I'll text you the address in case you deem us worthy."

Saturday night comes soon enough and finds Brent drinking Mike Richards' cheap beer and trying to find a girl in the place who Jeff Carter won't swoop in and steal as soon as they get a conversation going. Brent doesn't know why girls are so eager to get with him, he's annoying as fuck and he bleaches his hair.

Mike's parents have a pretty sweet entertainment system and a very heated Madden tournament appears to be taking place in front of it. He pulls out his phone and texts Duncs.

"videogames w beer > videogames w kane. come over, lamer"

Just as he hits send, Troy slams into him from the side, gripping him round the shoulders and yelling drunkenly about how great all his friends are.

Duncs doesn't reply, and Brent is more than a little disappointed, so he pounds another beer.

He's just opened another one when it's plucked out of his hand. "Hey, asshole," Brent says, turning to face the thief.

"You promised me beer," Duncs says.

Brent smiles wide and throws his arm around Duncs's neck. "You made it! I knew you liked me better."

"It was on my way home," Duncs shrugs, but he's smiling a little.

"Come on, let's go show everybody what a Duncan Keith party looks like." He's maybe a little drunker than he meant to get this fast.

Duncs snorts, but he lets Brent keep his arm around his shoulder as he leads him through the crowds. Fraz and Ladd greet them as they pass by, but they seem to be heavily involved in a beer can stacking endeavor and not inclined to talk.

As they reach the main living room with the staircase up to the rest of the house, Brent sees Jeff Carter disappear into what looks like a bedroom with the captain of the girl's volleyball team, so it looks like he might finally get the chance to score with some girls.

He's kind of surprised when Duncs damn near chugs his beer and then immediately reaches for another one. He hesitates before opening it though, "Is there anything stronger?"

"I didn't bring anything," Brent says. "But we can see if anyone wants to share."

Brent knows the generous drunks from the greedy ones at this point, and he and his tequila bought some goodwill last week. "Jack Daniels okay?" 

"Fine," Duncs says. 

Brent was planning on mixing it with some Coke or whatever, but Duncs just knocks it straight back. "Wow, are you on a mission or what?"

"Something like that," Duncs says after chasing with his beer. "Listen, do you wanna go somewh-"

"Brent!" a familiar voice says from behind him.

"Hey, Kelsey," he says turning around. She's got a different friend with her tonight.

"You know Cara, right?"

"I do now," Brent says. Cara's got a nose ring and that whole hot punky chick thing going on. "This is Duncs."

"We've got a proposition for you," Cara says with a smile. 

Just the way she says that has blood rushing to Brent's dick. "Oh really?"

"We'll make out," Kelsey says, and Brent nearly has to pinch himself. "If you make out."

"We saw Andrew was kind of busy, but we're not really picky," Cara says.

Brent turns to Duncs, his eyes wide and pleading, "Duncs? I mean I know it's not your thing, but it shouldn't be too painful, right?"

And since Duncs won't be going off with Cara, maybe Brent could convince _both_ of them...

But Duncs’s face shutters almost immediately. He swallows and clenches his fists. "I'm not kissing you for a fucking game. Find someone else." He turns and sets his beer on the nearest flat surface hard enough for foam to come sloshing out the top before heading straight to the door.

"Wow," says Kelsey, eyebrows raised as she watches his retreating back. "I didn't take him for a homophobe."

"He's not!" Brent protests, taken aback. "He's- He's just shy." He starts to go after Duncs to see if he can catch him before he leaves for good, but Kelsey takes his arm.

"Hey," she says, smiling up at him, "just 'cause your friend was a jerk doesn't mean we have to give this up as a lost cause?"

Brent stares at them, and they're both really cute girls -- _really_ cute -- but all of a sudden all he can think of is how he was gonna kiss Duncs.  He wishes he weren't quite so drunk, because he's still not sure why Duncs ran out like that. It's not like Brent would have minded if he had just said no. But as soon as he has that thought he realizes it's not true. He hadn't contemplated kissing Duncs before, but now the thought that Duncs doesn't want to kiss him is making him way sadder than it should.

"Uh, I think I should go actually," Brent apologizes to the girls. "I'm pretty drunk."

He wants to go home, but he's way too drunk to drive, and they were just going to crash at Troy’s, since he lives like a block away. But Brent just wants to go and be alone, or find Duncs and figure out why he's so _mad_ at him.

He sends him a quick text "im sorry. call me." Brent doesn't really expect a reply, but when it doesn't come and doesn't come, his mood just sinks lower.

"I'm gonna go," Brent tells Brouw and Ladd. The beer stacking is reaching impressive heights.

"Dude, it's early!" Troy says.

"I know but Duncs is mad at me," Brent says. "He just left and I don't know why and. I'm just gonna go."

"You're not driving," Ladd says. 

"No," Brent says. He's drunk, not stupid. "I think I'm just going to walk home."

"That's like two miles," Troy points out. "Let's just go back to my place."

"No, it'll be fine," Brent says. "Stay, finish your tower."

It's not that cold out, so the walk is fine at first. He calls Duncs once he's far enough from the house that the noise isn't a disruption. It goes straight to voicemail. "Hey, Duncs it's me. I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to- I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything, don't be mad. I was just thinking with my dick and acted like a giant douche. I'm sorry."

He's halfway home when it starts drizzling. It's the worst night ever.

He wakes up the next morning face down on his bed, his damp jeans still hanging off one ankle. He groans at the awful taste in his mouth and flops over onto his back. His eye catches on his phone on the bedside table, but when he checks it there are no messages and no missed calls.

His head's not actually hurting too bad, but he still feels vaguely queasy and upset. Thinking over last night doesn't make any of it make more sense, it just leaves him confused and slightly miserable.

He plods downstairs to see if his mom is cooking breakfast, but it looks like his parents have already left for church, so he just grabs a box of cereal and collapses on the couch in front of the TV.

He eats it by the fistful and watches a replay of the Oilers vs Flames from the night before. It's a stupid game, and yelling at the TV makes a good distraction from the awful knot in his stomach.

During the second intermission he realizes his parents are going to be back soon, and he just doesn't feel like talking to anyone, so he brushes the crumbs off the couch and shoves the box back in the pantry before heading back to his room.

There's a new post on his Facebook wall from Patrick Sharp that just says "you dumb fuck." And fuck that guy. Seriously. What does he know?

He tries calling Duncs again, but there's still no answer. Brent doesn't want to be that weird clingy guy, so he decides to just wait for school the next day. They have class together. Duncs can't not answer him then.

 

But when Brent walks into the classroom the next morning, Duncs's headphones are on loud enough that it must be physically painful to him, and he's focused on his notebook like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. It's worse than before they started hanging out because he's clearly actively ignoring Brent. He glances over at Fraser and Laddy, but they both shrug sympathetically.

Class drags on endlessly and Brent can't quit glancing over at Duncs every few minutes. He's looking at the teacher every time, but his paper is blank and noteless.

Brent is up and out of his chair before the bell finishes ringing at the end of class and manages to catch Duncs before he can make his exit.

"Hey, I know I'm a dick, but can we at least talk? I'm sorry Saturday was so-"

"Not here," Duncs says, brushing past him and jamming his headphones in his ears.

He doesn't show up at lunch, and when Brent looks for his truck in the parking lot after school, it's already gone.

"come on dude" Brent texts him. There's no reply before he has to go to practice and his phone is still unused when they finish up. He throws his gear back into his bag and storms out of the locker room before anyone else, probably the first time that's ever happened.

He's tired and frustrated at Duncs, so maybe it was a little bit intentional when Brent started driving to his house, but he's still surprised when he finds himself parked outside.

He stares at the house and the garage and considers trying the phone again, but he ends up just hopping out and racing up the path to the front door.

Brent knocks on the door and hopes Duncs will open it. He's never been inside before or really met any of Duncs's family. But the way his day is going it just makes sense that it's his dad who opens it.

"Um, hi," Brent says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Is Duncs home?"

"He's still at practice," Mr. Keith says. "He shouldn't be home for another hour at the earliest."

"Oh," Brent says. He really should have considered this. "Well, can you tell him Seabs stopped by? And that he should call me or email me or something?"

Mr. Keith looks a little bemused, but he agrees to pass on the message to his son.

So now there's really not much else he can do if Duncs is truly determined not to talk to him, at least not without looking like a crazy stalker. He drives back home and makes a beeline straight for his bed, where he lays and stares at the ceiling until his mom calls him for dinner.

He's quiet at dinner, but he almost chokes on a carrot when his dad asks him if it's girl troubles bothering him.

"No, Dad, jeez. It's just... My friend Duncs is mad at me because I said something stupid and I feel like crap about it."

"Language, Brent," his mom admonishes. "I hope you apologized to him."

"I tried, but he won't really talk to me."

"Well, sometimes you just have to let people be upset for a while. I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

"I guess," Brent sighs, making fork tracks in his mashed potatoes. "It still sucks though."

 

He checks his email after dinner, since his phone was silent in his pocket the whole time. It's like, 8:30. Duncs should totally be home by now, but the only new email is a 15% off coupon from the NHL store. Brent deflates. He was expecting _something_ from Duncs, even just an email calling him a stalker. Brent wouldn't have to stalk him if he'd just answer a text or a phone call.

So he surfs around on Facebook – Duncs hasn't blocked him or anything, and his status is song lyrics Brent doesn't recognize, and the only new posts on his wall are from Sharpy saying they have to hang out that weekend. It's stupid. Sharpy just saw him like an hour ago, so Brent doesn't see why he has to write on Duncs's wall.

Duncs's reply to the wall post pops up in his news feed after Brent finishes his math homework. So he's definitely home, and definitely online. But he's invisible on IM. Brent can take a hint. He'll try again tomorrow at school.

 

Tomorrow comes, and Duncs is stonewalling just as hard as the day before.  Class seems never-ending, and Brent can't concentrate on any of the work he's supposed to be doing. 

At lunch Duncs is again nowhere to be seen, even though it's taco day: the one day of the week when the cafeteria food is actually decent. Brent munches glumly on a churro and listens to the guys talking about math tests, and who said what in the halls between class, and what coach is going to make them do next practice. Eventually Troy notices he's not participating much in the conversation and elbows him in the side.

"You with us here, Seabs?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." He grins, showing off all the cinnamon and sugar and pastry stuck in his teeth.

"Eugh, gross, man. No one wants to see that."

"Your mom wants to see it," Brent says. Even he knows it's stupid, but it's expected.

He ducks the tortilla chip tossed in his general direction, but it doesn't stop the salsa from dripping onto his shirt. "Fuck you guys," Brent says, swiping at it with a napkin.

Ladd is cracking up way more than a little salsa on his shirt is worth, so he has to turn to Troy. "Where else is it?"

"Your hair."

"Why'd you tell him?" Fraz asks. "He would've gone to class like that!"

"You better watch yourself, Fraser," Brent says rising to his feet. "I'm going to go clean this up."

He makes sure to clip Fraz on the back of the head his way to the bathroom.

He's flicking jalapeños off his fingers and into the sink when one of the stalls opens behind him and Duncs steps out, but he freezes when he sees Brent.

"Hey!" Brent says, smiling hopefully. It fades quickly when Duncs doesn't react. He doesn't even move. "I can see you, you know."

That gets a reaction out of Duncs, even if it is only to drop eye contact and move to the sinks to wash his hands.

Brent figures he may not get a better opportunity to really apologize any time soon, so he takes a breath and turns toward Duncs.

"Duncs, I really am sorry about Saturday. I didn't mean to like, make you uncomfortable."

Duncs turns his head to stare at him, but he doesn't say anything. Brent shifts uncomfortably and wishes he didn't smell like hot peppers while having this conversation.

"It didn't mean anything," he tries. "I was just messing around 'cause those girls were hot."

Duncs frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't like being used."

"No, I get that. It was a dick move on my part. It won't happen again, promise."

That declaration doesn't seem to make Duncs any happier, but he does uncross his arms and sigh. "Yeah."

"So are we good?" Brent asks finally starting to relax for the first time since Saturday night.

But the bell rings then and Duncs grabs a paper towel. "I have to go."

"Oh, um, okay," Brent says. "I'll see you in history."

Duncs is already out into the hall, and Brent still has tomato chunks in his hair that need to get gone before English.

 

History is weird. Things are a little better, but they're not fixed. Like, Duncs keeps his headphones on till class starts, but he's not acting like there's a wall between their desks.

Mrs. Holtzapple gives them a worksheet to work on in groups, and Troy kicks Duncs's desk until he turns it around to join them. Brent is just so glad that Duncs is talking to them a little, even if it is mostly about the assignment, that he doesn't realize til after class that Duncs never actually said anything to him.

He has to get right to hockey practice after school, so he can't catch Duncs in the parking lot before he leaves. Practice is brutal since their coach pushes them hard during night skates, and soon enough Brent doesn't have the free mental energy to spend wondering how things stand with him and Duncs.

He comes back round to it when he finally gets home and collapses in his bedroom, having wolfed down his mom's pot roast like it was his first meal in days. There's still no email or anything from Duncs, and none of his other friends are online, not that he'd know how to talk about this to them anyway.

His gaze lands on the cuff Duncs lent him back when they went to that concert, still lying on his desk where he'd tossed it. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, bending it a little to feel the give. On a whim he buckles it around his wrist and stares at it, remembering that first night they'd really hung out.

It seems like a million years ago -- he barely knew Duncs at all then -- but it was an awesome time. Even with all the bleeding. Come to think of it, he gets injured a lot being friends with Duncs, but it's totally worth it.

He wonders if offering to let Duncs punch him would help Duncs forgive him so they can just get back to normal or whatever.

Brent can totally work a black eye too, so it might even work in his favor on the getting laid thing. He starts rubbing himself through his jeans, just idly at at first, but when his dick starts perking up and pointing out that no, he's not too tired to jerk off, he quickly kicks them off.

He rearranges his head more comfortably on his pillow and stretches his legs out, cupping himself through his boxers. He's not thinking of anything in particular yet, just floating through various vaguely sexy images and stroking absently. Once he's hard enough to pull at the elastic of his boxers he pushes them down his thigh, and that's when Duncs’s cuff catches on his hipbone and sends a shiver through his whole body.

It makes his wrist look different when he glances down at it, like it belongs to someone else. Of course, the only person Brent has ever seen wear one of these is Duncs, and oh wow, he can practically see his dick jump at that thought. He wraps his hand around his cock, the whole matter of getting off suddenly seeming more urgent than it did two minutes ago.

He watches his hand as he smears the pre-come around the head of his dick and imagines that it belongs to Duncs. Maybe pressed up in the corner of the showers last week, or in the hotel back during the invitational. Or fuck, no, in the bathroom of that shitty club when they were both bruised and bloody and Brent would have to be careful when he kissed Duncs because otherwise it would hurt. But probably he wouldn't care, because Duncs would have his hand around Brent's cock and it would look just like this. Almost. Fuck, he doesn't care about the realism of the view, he just strokes himself faster.

He tightens his grip on his cock as the scene in his mind shifts to pushing Duncs up against the wall, crowding him. He would bend down to suck at Duncs’s throat and wind a hand into his hair to tilt his neck for better access. He turns his face into his bicep to muffle a groan as he drags his knuckles just under the head of his dick. Of course Duncs would know just how to touch him to turn him on the most.

Duncs would be panting a little and Brent could feel his pulse speeding up under his lips and his skin would taste a little salty from the hot and crowded mosh pit. Any one of those dudes could walk in on them right then and -- "oh shit," Brent swears as his orgasm catches him by surprise.

He strokes himself through it and then fumbles for the box of tissues next to his bed so he can clean himself up. He grimaces when he realizes there's a little bit of come on Duncs's wrist cuff. Duncs is going to be so pissed if Brent doesn't get it all off.

Suddenly Brent feels like he's been hit by a ton of bricks, because he wouldn't think there was a problem with the stain, had Duncs been wearing it when it happened. Like, for real, and not just in his head. He can barely breathe his chest is so tight all of a sudden.

In between the panic he wonders why it didn't bother him while he was getting off, but he's not really in the habit of analyzing his jerkoff fantasies as they happen. He feels a flush of hot and then cold run through him as he tries to figure out how long he's been oblivious to the fact that he apparently wants to do Duncs. He has a dawning suspicion that it's a lot longer than he's comfortable with.

And it wasn't like the situation between him and Duncs wasn't shitty enough already. It was bad enough when Brent only wanted Duncs to be his friend, and if Duncs doesn't want to hang out with him already, he certainly won't appreciate Brent wanting to date him.

He pulls his boxers back on and turns off the light. It's still kind of early, but he doesn't really feel like being awake right now.

His mind races as he stares at the shadows on the ceiling before the fatigue of the day finally pull him down into sleep.

 

Brent panics when he sees Brouwer dragging Duncs to their table at lunch the next day. He's just not ready to sit by Duncs and talk to him or look at his hands or his neck...

So he shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and grabs his bag of chips. "Forgot to do my French homework, see you guys in class," he says as he grabs his stuff. He has to take off before someone offers to let him copy.

It isn't until he's hidden in the library that he realizes how stupid that was. If Duncs would go back to just being Brent's friend, he could work up to asking Duncs out, and even if he got shot down Duncs would at least be nice about it.

Right now he'd probably be laughed at, or punched.

It's not like he can go back now though, so he just makes a promise to himself not to freak out in history class. Or at least not to be obvious that he's freaking out.

Brent gives Duncs a smile and a nod as he sits down at the beginning of class, which Duncs returns with a small nod of his own, though he gives a bit of a weird look too. Brent will take anything rather than being ignored at this point. He's pretty sure he's going to do terribly on this next test, considering how little he's been paying attention in class lately, but he can't help but be distracted by the way Duncs is sitting and the muscles in his forearm as he flips his pencil around his thumb.

He shakes his head hard once and forces himself to apply himself to his notes.

Maybe he could ask Duncs to study with him and then when they're alone -- he pinches his eyes shut, like that'll make the mental image go away.

He really is going to need some tutoring, at this rate.

 

That night he makes it a point to reread that day's chapter in history even though it's boring as hell, like most of Canadian history.

He has to do the reading in the living room because he keeps getting distracted by the cuff sitting on his nightstand, so then he gets distracted watching Battle of the Blades with his mom, and making fun of the costumes.

Of course, once he gets back into his bedroom, the cuff is the first thing he sees. Brent considers jerking off wearing it again, but it's a little too creepy. At least yesterday was an accident. He really has to give it back tomorrow, and he should probably be able to look Duncs in the eye when he does it.

Brent tosses the cuff into his backpack, and he spots his good jeans hanging out of a drawer. They aren't always lucky, but he always seems to be wearing them when he gets lucky. Not that he thinks Duncs will see him in them and know why Brent is wearing them and drag him off to a janitor's closet somewhere and blow him or anything.

But it couldn't hurt, right?

 

Of course, the next morning he oversleeps his alarm and has to rush around like mad in order to get out the door on time. He grabs a long-sleeved henley out of the clean laundry hamper in the basement and pulls it on as he ran up the stairs. By the time he has all his books and stuff gathered and grabs a PopTart to eat on the way, however, he figures it must actually be his brother's the way it's pulling across his chest and the sleeves are a little too short. He doesn't have time to change, so it looks like he's going to have to live with it for the day.

For once, he manages to catch Duncs at his locker between classes and pulls out the cuff to hand it back.

"Hey, I probably should have returned this a lot sooner, but better late than never, right?"

"Oh. Thanks." Duncs takes it with a confused look on his face. Brent tries not to focus on the way his thumb rubs over the leather absently.

"I didn't want you to think I was stealing your stuff or anything. And you might need it the next time you want to go out moshing looking like a badass." _Shut up, Jesus Christ_ he tells himself mentally. "Anyway, I'll see you at lunch, right?"

"Hmm?" Duncs looks up to meet his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I guess."

His eyes are like, really blue. Brent is actually glad when the bell rings before he can say something stupid. "Gotta go, but see you at lunch," Brent says.

 

He shouldn't be surprised that Duncs put the cuff on, but there it is, reaching out for one of Troy's fries when Brent sits down for lunch. He's pretty sure he can feel the blood rushing out of his head and down towards his dick. The table will hide any embarrassing boners, but it's still really inconvenient.

Brent has finished his sandwich before he realizes Duncs is doing that thing where he talks to everyone but Brent again. He's barely even looking at him, and Brent knows he looks good. He caught the lunch lady checking him out, but Duncs is acting like he's invisible.

"So what are you doing this weekend, Duncs?" Brent asks.

"Uh, we've got a game Saturday in Victoria, some of the guys are going to be staying over before we carpool to the Ferry in the morning."

"Oh," Brent says, more than a little disappointed. "Well good luck, yeah?"

Duncs just nods and goes back to poking at his macaroni and cheese.

"Try not to suffer any key injuries before the rematch next week," Fraz says, tossing a napkin at him. "No excuses for when we beat your asses this time."

"Wait, what?" Brent says.

"We play Langley next week," Ladd says. "Do you ever look at the schedule?"

"Yeah, like at the beginning of the year," Brent says. "I just like to focus on the immediate game, and not get caught looking ahead."

No one is buying that. "Fuck off, I've been...busy."

"Busy shrinking all your shirts?" Ladd asks, grinning.

Brent glares at him. "It's Keith's."

"Oh, really?" Fraz leers between him and Duncs, and there are several more giggles and waggling eyebrows around the table.

"My _brother_ , you assholes." Brent can't stop the blush he feels rising on his cheeks, nor can he help thinking for a moment about what it would actually mean to be wearing Duncs’s clothes. For his part, Duncs is laughing it off, but Brent thinks the tips of his ears look redder than usual, and he still won't look at Brent.

History is more of the same, like, Duncs will do or say the bare minimum to Brent but then turn or look away. He's not ignoring Brent, he's just acting like he doesn't care.

Brent isn't just going to take that though, so as the period is ending he leans half out of his chair until he's leaning against Duncs and wow, has he always smelled this good? Brent pauses to think and comes up with 'yes'. Dammit.

"Did you want something?" Duncs asks looking at Brent from the corner of his eye.

"You- Uh. Do you wanna hang out after school?"

"Can't, practice," Duncs says. He drops his pencil and has to lean away from Brent to pick it up.

"Oh right, yeah, gotta beat Victoria," Brent says retreating to his seat.

By the end of the week Brent is about ready to scream at the way Duncs is still freezing him out. He guesses this is simply how their friendship is going to be now, and it sucks. Dammit, he misses hanging out with Duncs, and would even without the fact that now he wants to rub up against him and kiss him out behind the practice rink.

In some of his mopier moments Brent thinks it's unfair of Duncs to still be so mad at him over one drunken bad idea that he's apologized for like a hundred times already, but he guesses it probably felt like Brent was mocking Duncs's gayness or something, especially after he'd promised he wouldn't tell anybody at Delta about it.

He spends the weekend hanging out with the guys, playing hockey and shooting the shit. They win their game Saturday afternoon, so everyone's in a good mood, roughhousing and chilling at Fraz's place after the game.

Brent is just glad it's not a big party thing. He's not in the right mindset for that after this past week. He wishes Duncs were here, but it's probably for the best that he's just got his team with him.

Someone puts on Strange Brew and passes Brent another beer, but he finds himself falling asleep even before Bob and Doug reach Elsinore.

 

He has to scrub the Sharpie off his face in the morning before he goes home. He's almost afraid of the pictures that are going to end up on Facebook. There's nothing too bad, yet, but he's easily in the best shape of the rest of the team, so he keeps an eye on his news feed over most of the afternoon.

 _Duncan Keith is now friends with Logan Couture_. He doesn't think anything of it, until Sharpy comments on it, "Way to go, Duncs."

He clicks through to Logan's profile, but he doesn't have a lot of information public to people who aren't his friends. It just says he lives in Victoria and likes hockey and The Hangover. He looks kind of doofy in his profile pic, in Brent's opinion.

He forces himself to stop stalking Duncs's friends and start working on his homework, but his mind keeps turning over the implications of Sharpy being so excited about Duncs making new friends.

He's proud of himself for not asking Duncs about it on Monday. Of course, the only reason he doesn't is that he isn't sure how to bring it up. "So hey, since you blew me off this weekend I was stalking your Facebook-"

But then Tuesday night after practice he notices a new exchange on Duncs's wall.

"Have a game on the mainland Saturday morning, we should do something after, if you're free."

"I can make time :)"

And that's just fucking weird. He's never seen Duncs use one of those smiley faces before. It kind of freaks Brent out. He's pretty sure they're planning a date, and if he can figure that out, so could someone else reading.

It's not fair that Duncs is being so obvious like a week after he got all mad at Brent for almost outing him.

Wednesday at lunch starts out quiet, as they all concentrate on shoveling food in their mouths, until Fraser arrives and plunks his tray down with a purpose.

"Don Angelo's has triple sausage pizza on the menu again. Anyone who's not there at 6:30 tonight is worthless as a human being," he announces triumphantly.

The news is greeted with extreme enthusiasm around the table, except by Duncs, who looks curiously at them while chewing his sandwich.

"Duncs, _Don Angelo's_ ," Ladd says. "Have you seriously never been there?"

Duncs shakes his head. "I take it it's good?"

"Dude, I can't even tell you. It looks like just a pizza joint in a strip mall, but I would choose a slice of that pizza over the love of my own mother. And triple sausage is the best of them all."

"If God made a pizza, he would wish it were as good as triple sausage," Troy chimes it.

Duncs is laughing a little at this point, but he willingly agrees to try this divine pizza for himself. And if he seems to glance at Brent for a long moment as he does, well, it turns out he does have a smear of ketchup around his mouth, so it was probably just that.

 

Brent tries to just let himself enjoy the simple joy of his triple sausage slice, but Duncs is just really distracting. They're all wedged into a booth, the cheap vinyl creaking every time they move, and Duncs is pressed up against his side so Troy doesn't go falling off the edge at the outside.

Brent doesn't know what he does to his hair or his clothes to make them smell that good, but it's really unfair.

“Did you just sniff me?” Duncs asks.

“What?” Brent says. “No, dude, I'm just enjoying the aromas of this fine establishment.”

“Uh, okay.”

“So what do you think, Duncs?” Fraz asks. “Everything we promised and more?”

“It's really good,” Duncs agrees.

Normally, Brent would object to that kind of understatement, but it's Duncs. And he's got more objectionable things on his mind. “You should bring some of your guys here after we kick your asses on Saturday. It'll be our apology gift, sharing with them the wonder of Don Angelo's.”

It's kind of a shitty move, but he just wants to know what lie Duncs will tell about his _date_ that night. And it's not like Brent is supposed to even know about it, so it's not even an unreasonable suggestion.

Duncs just shakes his head and takes another huge bite of pizza. "Can't. Meeting up with a friend who's gonna be in town for the day."

And that just irritates Brent even more, because it's technically the truth, as far as he knows. He scowls and pushes the rest of his pizza away. Ladd looks at him like he's slightly crazy, which at this point he just might be.

"Oh yeah?" Fraz asks Duncs, oblivious to Brent's internal turmoil. "Like from out where you used to live?"

"Nah, Victoria. We're gonna hit up this metal record store in Vancity, I think."

Duncs doesn't seem at all concerned discussing his maybe-boyfriend with everyone, and Brent doesn't really understand it. If he doesn't care if the guys know he's into dudes, why did he freak out so much at the party?

"Can't handle that much meat?" Ladd asks, pointing at Brent's slice.

"My stomach hurts," Brent says. It's kind of true, at least.

"Maybe if you hadn't wolfed down three already," Duncs says. He's got sauce on his chin.

"Yeah, well at least it all went in my mouth," Brent says.

"Huh?" Duncs asks. He wipes ineffectually at his cheeks.

"Missed it," Brent says. "Here, just-" he turns Duncs's head to face him and rubs at the spot with his thumb. Duncs holds perfectly still and looks up at Brent from under his eyelashes. Brent has to hold his breath because he's not sure what to do next and he just wants to keep touching Duncs and his thumb is really near Duncs's lip and-

"So can I have yours?" Fraz asks, already reaching for Brent's slice.

"What?" Brent asks, letting go of Duncs suddenly. "No!" he slaps Fraz's hand away.

He's tired of people taking the things he wants.

Eventually all the pizza is gone and the waitress has stopped coming by to offer free refills of their Cokes, so they figure it's time to head out before they're kicked out. There's the usual scrambling to come up with cash and figure the tip and by the time it's all squared away, Duncs has bolted with hardly a good bye to anyone, and definitely not one to Brent.

Brent tries to immerse himself in the conversation with his friends who are at least still talking to him, as they kick the curb outside the restaurant in order to avoid having to split up and go home. No one seems to think Duncs was acting weird at dinner, and when he brings it up Fraz gives him a weird look.

"Duncs is always weird, dude. That's like, his thing."

At least Saturday is coming up.

 

He's amped for the game. So's the rest of the team after what happened at the invitational, but Brent especially so. The Lancers apparently feel the same, because it's a physical game from the get go.

The hits are coming hard and fast and puck battles are brutal against the boards. He lays a big hit on Duncs when he pinches too far in and almost mutters a "sorry," but he just spent the last two shifts on the bench scanning the crowd trying to figure out if that Logan guy is here.

He's trying not to think about that on the ice, and it's kind of easy because Sharpy is in Brent's face every chance he gets. Brent does his best to shove him off without losing his focus, but Sharpy just keeps coming back for more.

A puck whistled dead after it ends up under the Langley goalie predictably leads to an all out scrum, and Brent ends up tangled with Sharp yet again. Sharpy shoves him hard into the side of the net, and won't let him regain his balance while the refs are busy pulling everyone else apart.

"Dude, what is your problem?" Brent shoves back, trying to get a little space between them.

"You, asshole." He keeps glaring at Brent even after the ref skates in between them and tells them to get off the ice for the next faceoff.

He can't think of anything he's done during the game to piss Sharpy off, but these days that doesn't necessarily mean he hasn't.

The refs miss at least three hooking, slashing and cross check calls on Sharp before the end of the period. Brent is getting more than a little pissed off. He glares at the Langley players as they file off the ice for intermission and sees Sharp and Duncs laughing it up. His fists clench inside his gloves.

“Fuck those guys.”

“For sure,” Ladd agrees. Brent hadn't even realized he'd spoken loud enough for anyone to hear him. “Though letting Sharp beat you up is a great way to keep him tied up and away from good scoring chances.”

“What'd you do to him, anyway?” Fraz asks.

“Nothing!” Brent says. “Or if I did it was an accident and he's losing his shit over nothing.”

“Maybe he'll cool off before the next period,” Brouwer says before their coach calls them all to attention.

Sharpy does back off him in the opening of the second, but it's clear that's coach's orders and not that he's any less mad at Brent. Duncs, on the other hand, appears to have spent the intermission betting just how many times he can mash Brent into the boards before the period's over.

After one particularly solid hit just at Brent's blue line, Duncs doesn't let up even when the puck skitters out of the zone and is picked up by Richards, who skates it full speed toward the other zone. Brent pushes back, but Duncs just shoves him again, physically blocking them both from moving up to join the play.

"What, you wanna go?" Brent asks, more out of frustration than any expectation that they'll actually fight.

But Duncs looks at him and snaps, "Fine," before flicking his gloves off and circling up away from the boards.

Brent wasn't actually expecting Duncs to accept, so he's a second behind dropping his gloves and pulling off his helmet.

They just circle each other at first, grabbing at each other's jerseys. Brent isn't really that sold on the idea of hitting Duncs, and he figures they'll just dance until the refs break them up or one of them hits a rut, and they fall to the ice.

So it's kind of a surprise when Duncs comes up with a left and clips him on the cheek.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Brent asks. "Showing off for-" he cuts himself off before he says "your boyfriend," because he's not that much of a dick. But he's not too nice to _not_ punch Duncs right on the mouth.

And if it makes things uncomfortable for Duncs later, Brent won't be bothered by it.

"Wrong with me?" Duncs asks incredulously. "You! You-"

He sends another left Brent's way, but Brent dodges most of it and sends another one back at Duncs.

They stumble then, and the refs rush in to break it up. Brent wishes they hadn't, because Duncs never finished his sentence and probably never will.

"Good job, Seabsie," Ladd says as he brings him his discarded gear in the penalty box.

"Thanks," he replies, even though he doesn't feel as good as he probably should.

He looks over at Duncs in his penalty box, but he's conspicuously checking his pads and searching for a water bottle, not looking back at Brent. For the whole 5 minutes they sit there Brent has a hard time concentrating on the game, and it's not just because of the throbbing in his cheek.

Just before they're let out, while they're both standing at the door of their boxes, Duncs does glance over at him, and their eyes meet for a long moment. Brent doesn't know what expression Duncs has on under his helmet, and he doesn't have time to figure it out before they're back out in the heat of the game.

The period is winding down with both goalies blocking everything they see. An attempt at clearing the puck takes an awkward bounce off the boards and lands right in the feet of Patrick Kane who starts carrying it past the hash marks. He shoots a pass towards Sharp, who's waiting on the opposite side of the crease, but Brent manages to get his stick into the passing lane and deflect it out to Troy who carries it easy out of the zone and up the ice for a breakaway with Fraz at his side.

The Lancer forwards can't get back in time to help out Duncs and his D partner, and when Fraz crashes the net, Barker ends up screening his own goalie, so he has no idea where the puck is coming from when Troy wrists it in.

The final minute of the period is a scramble as the Lancers try to keep momentum from leaving them entirely before they head back to the locker room for intermission, but the Vipers are able to hold them at bay.

As they file into their stalls during the break all of Brent's teammates offer him fist bumps and congratulations for his fight, along with demands for a play-by-play of how it went down. Neither Duncs nor Brent are known for their pugilistic natures, so it must have been more than just a routine fight.

"What happened, man?" asks Troy as he retapes a sock that's been slipping. "Did you sleep with his mom last night? They're pissed as hell at you, dude."

Brent shrugs. _I drunkenly offered to kiss him and now he has a boyfriend to spite me,_ is probably not going to cut it as an explanation.

"I dunno. They just really want to win, I guess."

"Ha, good luck with that," Fraz smirks, and the conversation drifts to the goal and how to keep it up for the final period.

The third period is much more like the last two games the teams played than it is the last two periods. The Lancers have given up their vendetta against Brent and are just doing everything they can to tie the game.

They come damn close a few times, the crossbar and posts ring loudly as shots bank off them, but they never get any of their chances through.

Brent blocks more than his share of shots -- he's going to be a giant bruise tomorrow -- because winning this game seems so much more personal than usual. When the final buzzer sounds, he and the Vipers celebrate like they've won some kind of trophy, and not just a Saturday afternoon game.

Back in the locker room it's Brent who suggests the team finds somewhere they can get hammered in celebration tonight. He has absolutely no desire to be sober tonight, because being sober means thinking about Duncs out on the town with his secret boyfriend, and maybe being brought home later and consoled on the loss.

Troy is happy enough to volunteer his basement, and they're all packing up to head out there when Brent's phone buzzes. It's a text from Duncs.

"What was with you out there?" and really? What was with _him_? He wasn't the one getting up in his face and starting fights. Whatever, he can't deal with this right now. He needs to be drunk five minutes ago. He tosses his phone into his bag and goes to see if he can catch a ride with Ladd.

 

He's double fisting from pretty much the second he walks in the door. The guys just keep passing him drinks the second he finishes one until he can barely hold himself upright. Ladd and Brouw start taking the drinks out of his hands.

He'd fight them, but his arms feel heavy and don't move the way he wants them to. That sets off a few laughs.

“Lucky you had better moves this afternoon, eh?” Troy says.

“Duncs would flatten him in this state,” Ladd laughs.

Brent doesn't laugh. “He hit me. Duncs hit me.”

“Yeah, buddy, that's what happens in a fight,” Fraz says. “But you got him back good.”

"Right in the mouth," Brent agrees. "He won't be kissing anyone tonight."

"...I guess not," Troy says, clearly confused as to where that came from.

"Come on," Ladd says, throwing an arm around Brent's shoulders. "Let's get you someplace where you won't injure yourself when you pass out."

"Not gonna pass out," Brent protests, but he follows willingly enough when Ladd leads him over to the ratty, unused couch in the corner. It's wedged weirdly under the basement steps, but it's fine for sprawling on if you don't sit up too straight.

Brent isn't tired at all, and he's bored, and everyone's all in the parts of the room you can stand up in, and it smells like a locker room over here.

When he turns his head to the side, he sees why; Ladd has dropped his bag on the floor and it's stinking right next to his head. Brent appreciates the thoughtfulness, too many times he's gotten a ride home with one guy when his bag is in someone else's car, but not the positioning.

He reaches down to bat the bag down a few feet when he remembers his phone is in there. Since no one here is going to talk to him, too busy playing MarioKart (lame) and Edward 40 hands (awesome), he should talk to someone not here.

The text from Duncs is still sitting in his inbox, but Brent's thumbs are too big to handle the little buttons right now, so he just calls.

It takes Duncs a while to pick up, maybe he's asleep? Brent doesn't know how late it is. Maybe he's too busy doing things with _Logan_ -

Fortunately, Duncs answers before Brent can finish that thought. "H'lo?"

"You punched me in the face."

"What?" Duncs apparently needs a moment to catch up to the conversation. "It was a fight. You punched me too." He sounds tired, maybe Brent did wake him up.

"But you punched me first! Why did you punch me?" He can tell he sounds petulant, but being this drunk means he doesn't have to care.

Duncs sighs. "You sound pretty smashed, maybe we should talk about it later."

"No! Because you don't ever talk to me anymore and I want to know."

"Seabs-"

"And I said I was sorry for wanting to kiss you." And okay, maybe that wasn't exactly how it happened but he really hates Duncs being mad at him.

"Sorry, what?" Duncs asks.

"You should be," Brent grouses. "And what's so great about this Logan guy that you want to kiss him instead? He has a stupid nose."

"No, wait, Seabs, back up-" Duncs tries.

But Brent keeps talking, because he has a lot he needs to say. "And why'd you have to sic Sharpy on me? It's not like I've been creepy about it." He pauses. "Okay, a little creepy, but I cleaned your bracelet real well, I don't know how you could tell."

"Seabs!" Duncs shouts. His voice sounds kind of strangled.

"You don't have to shout, reception isn't that bad down here."

"Go back. What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't know why you hate me now."

Duncs makes a noise very much like he's choking.

"I don't hate you, Seabs. I really don't hate you. I just... You really wanted to kiss me that night?"

"I always want to kiss you," Brent mumbles, because how can Duncs not know that?

"But-but you're not gay, you slept with Kelsey Ford!"

"So?" Brent doesn't see what that has to do with anything.

"If you wanted to kiss me, why didn't you?" Duncs's voice sounds smaller now and Brent presses his ear even closer to the phone.

"You ran away! And then you were mad at me and wouldn't talk to me, even when I looked really hot, and then you had a date with that dork from the island."

"He's not a- and it wasn't really a date. Or it was, but I didn't-"

Duncs is quiet for a second, and Brent listens to him take a big breath in and out.

"I wish we weren't having this conversation on the phone," he finally says.

Brent glances out across the room where there party is still going loud and strong. "Yeah, but I'm way too drunk to drive."

"I think this would probably be better to do when we're both sober," Duncs says. He at least has the decency to sound disappointed.

"Probably," Brent sighs. The time between now and sobriety feels like approximately a thousand years.

"Maybe I could pick you up tomorrow?" Duncs offers. "We could get breakfast?"

"Yes," Brent agrees immediately. "But uh-"

"Not too early?" Duncs asks. It sounds like he's smiling. Brent hopes he's smiling.

"Yeah," Brent says.

"So I'll see you tomorrow," Duncs says. "Go have fun at your party."

Brent maneuvers his way off the couch and back out to the rest of the guys. It's amazing how much more fun things are when he's not trying to drink until his brain stops working.

 

He hangs around long enough to sober back up to the "able to feel his face" level of drunk before catching a ride with Fraz, who quit drinking pretty early because his mom is dragging him to church in the morning.

Collapsing into his bed is about all he's good for when he gets home, so he wakes up the next morning with his belt buckle digging into his stomach and his shirt twisted up round his armpits. He's just brushing the dead goat taste out of his mouth when Duncs shows up with two large coffees and a greasy paper bag emblazoned with the Tim Hortons logo. Brent has never been more attracted to him.

He hopes Duncs knows that's what that indistinct noise meant when he took the cup from his hand.

His parents and Keith are all home, so he leads Duncs up to his room for privacy. Had he been thinking, he would've made sure it was clean first, or suggested they go for a drive or something. He kicks a few clothes under the bed before dropping back down on it.

Duncs hesitates a moment before taking the desk chair. Yeah, a drive probably would've been a better choice. Neither of them say anything at first. For a while, Brent is glad that Duncs is letting him commune with the coffee, but as the caffeine kicks in and he wakes up some more, the silence starts to shift from easy to awkward.

"Um," Brent tries.

"You remember calling last night, right?" Duncs asks. He's picked up a beat up Han Solo action figure off Brent's desk and is fiddling with the arms.

"I didn't drink that much," Brent replies. That just gets an eyebrow. "I remember." He tries not to cringe outwardly when he remembers some of what he said. "Sorry for insulting your boyfriend."

Duncs worries the corner of his lip in his teeth. "He's not my boyfriend. How did you even know about that, anyway?"

"Facebook, duh. You pretty much told everyone you were going on a date with him."

Duncs ducks his head and puts Han Solo back on the desk.

"I thought... I thought that maybe if I tried dating someone else I'd quit being so hung up on you."

Brent twists the lid of his coffee cup around the rim. "Yeah?"

Duncs smiles ruefully. "It didn't work."

Brent can't help the grin that starts to spread over his face then, but he figures Duncs doesn't mind. He stands up and sets his coffee down on his bedside table as he makes his way over to Duncs, but Duncs doesn't stand up to meet him.

"I really thought you weren't gay."

Brent scratches at his day old stubble. "Well, I'm not, I guess. I mean, I don't like, think about it a whole bunch. I like girls, but I also like making out with dudes sometimes." He blushes. "I definitely like you."

His blush deepens as he suddenly catches sight of Duncs’s wrist, where he's wearing the cuff he lent to Brent and that Brent... had to clean.

Duncs must follow his sightline, because then he's turning the cuff with his other hand. "You ever going to tell me what happened with this?"

Brent was hoping he wouldn't have to. "Can I- um, can I kiss you, first?" Because if Duncs thinks he's the creepiest after Brent tells him, he'd at least like to have that.

It's Duncs's turn to flush. "Yeah, I mean. Yeah."

Brent grins then, and there's an awkward minute where he stoops down to Duncs's height as Duncs stand and they jostle for position. He's reminded of why he usually only ever hooks up while drunk, but this is Duncs. It's better than a drunken hook up.

But then Duncs's hand falls to Brent's hip and it's the easiest thing in the world to lean in and press their lips together. It's chaste to start and Brent is doing a fist pump in his head, but when he presses into the kiss to take it further, Duncs hisses and pulls his head back.

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Brent babbles. Fuck, he didn't think he'd fuck up this quickly. And Duncs said-

Duncs's hands tighten on Brent's hips. "It's okay, just a little banged up still." His tongue darts out to poke the sore looking spot on his lip -- the spot where Brent hit him yesterday.

"Well that backfired," Brent mumbles.

"Huh?" Duncs asks.  
"Huh what?" Duncs's tongue is really distracting.

"What backfired?"

"Oh. Uh, I may have aimed for your mouth in the fight. So you couldn't kiss Logan."

Duncs laughs a little. "Well, thanks so much for that."

He flicks his tongue at the bruise one more time and that's pretty much all Brent can take. He pulls Duncs closer with a hand on the small of his back, and kisses at the other corner of his mouth. Duncs responds by wrapping an arm around Brent's shoulder and licking at his bottom lip. Their hips aren't quite touching, but Brent can feel their pants brushing when they shift.

He's holding back a little, trying not to push too much too fast, but Duncs pulls him closer and Brent goes easily, maybe more easily than Duncs was expecting, because he has to take a step back and ends up bumping into the desk chair, sending it skittering across the floor and startling them both.

“Um, we could move this,” Brent says, gesturing his head towards his bed. “We don't have to -- I mean. This is good. Really good.”

“Yeah,” Duncs says quickly, nudging Brent back that way. Neither of them want to let go, so it's a weird shuffle step until Brent feels his mattress hit the back of his legs. He sits and reaches up for Duncs.

“God, I've been dying for this,” Brent says.

Duncs huffs a little as he moves in between Brent's knees. “I've been waiting longer.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Brent asks, his fingers starting to wander under the hem of Duncs's shirt. They could've been doing this for weeks.

“I was trying,” Duncs's says, his hand now resting right at Brent's hair line. It should tickle, but it really doesn't. “But then Kelsey Ford interrupted us.”

Brent winces. "Yeah, that night could have gone better."

Duncs thumb sweeps across the bruise on his cheek, and Brent has to bite his lip to keep from shivering. He pushes his fingers further up under Duncs’s shirt, feeling the flat planes of his stomach and the goosebumps that spring up in his path.

Duncs tilts his face up to kiss him, and Brent does his best to close the gap between them. It's soft and gentle, and Brent feels kind of like a girl in this position, but it's good.

It can't be good for Duncs's spine though, all hunched over like that, so Brent pulls him down until he's lying on his back with Duncs on top of him. It's pretty much the greatest thing that's ever happened to him, and he lets his hands wander under Duncs's shirt. He tries not to apply too much pressure since he can't see the bruises from yesterday's game, and he's not going to do anything that makes Duncs stop kissing him, even for a second.

Duncs is heavy between Brent's spread legs, and it feels amazing. He tucks an ankle around Duncs’s calf and feels him flex his foot in return. Duncs lets a hand rest on Brent's chest, slowly drawing it down to palm at Brent's side. He can feel the warmth of Duncs's fingers through the thin material of his t-shirt, and he can't believe how such a simple thing can turn him on so much.

He brings a hand up to tangle in Duncs’s hair -- it's really soft -- and Duncs hums into Brent's mouth, tilting his head into Seabs's grasp.

He can feel Duncs's dick pressing against the inside of his thigh, and all the blood rushes out of his brain and into his cock. It's been on high alert ever since Duncs walked into his bedroom, and this pretty much puts it over the top. He doesn't think he's been this hard since Karen Andrews let him touch under her bikini top at her pool party between 9th and 10th grade.

He can't help rubbing his thigh just a little bit against Duncs's erection. He knows he said they didn't have to, just because they were on the bed, but if Duncs wants to Brent isn't going to say no.

The way Duncs gasps against his mouth is nothing but encouragement, so Brent does it again and this time Duncs grinds against him.

"Wait, Brent, wait," Duncs says, pulling back a few inches. Brent doesn't like that he's so far away. "Have you ever, I mean, with a guy have you ever done anything like this?"

Nothing he does with Duncs feels like anything he's done before. "Do handjobs with Ladd count?" he asks.

Duncs blinks at him before dropping his head to Brent's shoulder. "Your team is so much gayer than mine."

"Told you you should've joined us," Brent says. "But we were like fourteen and my hair was awful then. Best you didn't see it."

Duncs mumbles something that sounds like "Then?" against Brent's jaw but then he starts kissing there, so Brent doesn't have a chance to get offended.

Duncs keeps kissing Brent's jaw and down his throat, scraping his teeth a little in a way that's making Brent feel like he's plugged into an electrical socket.

"What about you?" he asks, sounding more than a little breathless.

Duncs stops kissing his neck to meet his eyes, and Brent immediately regrets interrupting that feeling by asking.

"Me?" Duncs appears to have lost the thread of the conversation a little. "Oh, I've dated a couple guys. We, you know, did stuff. Is that okay?"

"That's great," Brent says, tilting his neck invitingly, so maybe Duncs will get back to it.

Duncs has a better idea first and starts pushing Brent's shirt up to his arm pits, and Brent quickly tugs it off over his head. Duncs leans back in, targeting Brent's collar bone, but Brent catches him. 

"You too. I want to see you."

Duncs grins and sits up, pulling the shirt up slowly like he's some kind of professional at this. His muscles stretch and strain, and Brent can't keep his hands off. There's so much bare skin he needs to touch and see and explore.

Duncs collapses back on top of Brent, like he can't keep his hands off either. They kiss again, and any of the gentleness of earlier is gone. They're both pressing into the kisses eagerly, clutching at each other and pulling as close as they can get. The feel of Duncs’s bare chest against his own makes Brent gasp and thrust up, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.

"God, Seabs," Duncs breathes, pressing him down into the mattress. His chest is flushed and blotchy and his hair is getting damp at the temples, and Brent doesn't think he's ever seen anything sexier.

"You are so hot, you know that, right?" Brent breathes. "You've been driving me crazy with your mouth, and your eyes, and your _neck_." His hands trace the path of his words as he watches Duncs’s blush go down past his collar bone.

Duncs bites on his lip. It's already swollen from the kissing and the cut. "Could I- would you mind if-" he's blushing again, but he sets his shoulders back and looks Brent straight in the eye. "I wanna blow you."

Brent's whole body jerks at the words, and the idea and, "Yes, yeah, yeah. Uh, maybe lock the door first?"

The last thing he wants is his brother, or worse his mom, interrupting this. And he could use an extra thirty seconds to get himself under control.

Duncs nods and climbs off of Brent. Brent misses the weight and the warmth of him, but he takes the opportunity to shuck off his jeans. His hands hesitates at the elastic of his boxers.

"No wait," Duncs says after clicking the lock shut. "Let me."

He crawls back onto the bed and hooks his fingers under the waistband. He doesn't immediately pull them down though, instead he kisses over Brent's hip and licks across the line where his hair starts to come in thicker and curlier. Brent's erection, tenting his boxers, brushes the underside of Duncs’s chin and he has to dig his fingers into the sheets to avoid embarrassing himself.

Duncs slowly pulls the boxers down Brent's hips, still kissing down the crease of his thigh.

"Duncs, please," Brent pants, grabbing at his own hip to avoid grabbing at Duncs’s head and pushing him down instead. "I can't -- you have to --"

Duncs looks up at him from between his legs, and finally pulls his underwear all the way off.

He's already leaking pre-come, and almost whimpers when Duncs wraps his hand around Brent's cock and smears it a little bit. He could chew through his lip right now and not even notice because all of his nerves have moved to his dick. And fuck, he's still wearing that fucking leather cuff, the one Brent -- fuck, he can't think about that right now, not if he's not going to blow it all the second Duncs puts his mouth on Brent's cock.

"Duncs," he whines, and luckily Duncs gets it. He quits torturing Brent and steers Brent's dick into his mouth.

He just takes the tip at first, sucking gently as he works the rest of Brent with his hand, before slowly taking more and more in. It's hot, and wet, and Duncs's tongue never stops moving, and Brent has to dig his fingers into his hips to keep from thrusting into his mouth or pulling at Duncs's hair the way he's been imagining for weeks.

Duncs doesn't let up, setting up a steady rhythm that has Brent holding his breath at how good it is. He's not really trying anything fancy, but it just builds and builds in Brent's dick, and the base of his spine, and all the way out to his fingertips.

One of Duncs’s hands slides up to cover Brent's, gentling his grip where his nails have left little half-moon marks. Brent turns his hand to grasp at Duncs’s fingers, and that's all the warning he gets out before he's coming, Jesus Christ, down Duncs’s throat, and Duncs is _swallowing_ it, and that's about all the information his brain can handle for a while.

Brent just slumps back onto his mattress and waits for his brain to reboot. He's vaguely aware of Duncs getting off his knees -- that shorts him out again -- and crawling up onto the bed next to him.

He's lost his jeans at some point and their bare thighs are touching. Duncs takes unfair advantage of this fact and what it's doing to Brent to ask again, "So what's with you and the cuff?"

"I jerked off wearing it, and pretended it was your hand," Brent mumbles against Duncs's shoulder.

Duncs hisses at that. "Yeah?" he asks. "And that -- that did it for you?"

"Oh yeah," Brent says. "But then I kind of got jizz on it, and had to figure out how to clean it before returning it to you."

Duncs is making breathy moans, and there's a tell tale sound of skin on skin. Brent cracks open his eyes to see Duncs stroking himself and immediately bats his hand away. "Hey, hey, hey."

"Seabs, please," Duncs whines while Brent licks his palm to slick things up for him.

He hasn't done this for another guy since that time with Ladd a few years ago, but there's nothing strange or awkward about it. Pretty much no matter what he does, Duncs likes it, except when Brent slows his strokes to really feel how soft the skin is, or trace the vein on the under side of his cock.

That frustrates Duncs to the point of wrapping his hand tight around Brent's -- tighter than Brent would have gone -- and working Brent's hand over his dick until his hips are jerking into their grip, and he's moaning so loud Brent has to kiss him to keep anyone else in the house from hearing.

It's messy when Duncs finally comes, as it spills over both of their hands and fingers, but Brent doesn't care. He just keeps kissing Duncs and wipes his hand off on his thigh.

Duncs lets his whole weight fall on Brent, and it's fairly crushing, but it feels good too. Eventually Brent tips him halfway off his chest, because it's as far as he can be bothered to move him, and not at all because he feels like cuddling. 

Duncs grins up at him, and it's one of the dopiest grins Brent has seen. He's pretty sure that's only because he's not looking in the mirror right now, though.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi." Duncs hums contentedly, and trails a fingertip lightly down the planes of Brent's chest, lingering above his belly button. Brent can't stop the shivers at how it tickles.

"So, that was fun."

“Yeah,” Duncs agrees, still smiling. Brent wants him to smile like that all the time. Especially when naked in Brent's bed.

He brushes his thumb across Duncs's cheek. “You're going to have some serious beard burn. Sorry. I'll try to shave next time.”

“I don't mind,” Duncs says as he leans into Brent's hand.

Duncs's phone buzzes somewhere on the floor, but neither of them move.

“Did you need to get that?” Brent asks.

“Nah, probably just Sharpy,” Duncs says.

“Oh, well then you definitely need to text him back and call off your dog. He could be headed for my house right now with a Molotov Cocktail.”

“You're okay with me telling him?” Duncs asks.

He hasn't really thought about telling people. He's never really done anything worth telling people about, or they saw him slip off with whoever at a party and already knew.

“You told him about Logan,” Brent points out. Not that he's jealous. Logan and his stupid nose are back on the island, while he's got Duncs here in bed.

It's not like Sharpy's going to go around telling everyone, because even if he still hates Brent, that could hurt Duncs too.

“Yeah,” Duncs says. “And well, he kind of already knows about you. He said he caught you checking me out in the locker room?”

Brent flushes. “Oh. Well, maybe a little.”

Duncs smiles at him smugly and stretches across him to dig around on the floor until he comes up with his phone. He smirks at what he reads and taps out a reply before letting it drop back to the ground.

"I take it it was Sharp?"

"Yeah, he wanted to check I didn't need a convenient excuse to bail."

"So your house isn't suddenly on fire, then?"

"I told him he should probably make plans without me for the rest of the day."

Duncs shimmies his way back fully onto the bed, and Brent is pretty sure the way it makes their torsos rub against each other isn't entirely an accident.

They stay in Brent's bed a while longer, totally not cuddling, until his parents start making more noise, and he gets paranoid they'll somehow open his locked door.

"I'm not like, ashamed," he assures Duncs as he pulls on a clean shirt, "but the longer they don't know we're dating, the longer we're going to be able to lock the door when you're over."

"We're dating?" Duncs asks.

"You bought me breakfast," Brent says. He didn't think it was a huge assumption to make or anything. They've been wanting to make out for like, months, and Brent doubts that one blowjob and handjob are going to be enough for them. It's not enough for him, that's for sure.

Duncs grins, and Brent can't help but smile back. "Well shit, if I'd known that's what it takes-"

Brent shoves him a little, but Duncs just grabs his arm and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Come on, I'll make you lunch."

 

School is basically the worst thing ever. He sees Duncs in the hall before class, but he can't push him up against his locker and kiss him good morning like he really wants to.  He doesn't even get a chance to talk to him until lunch.

He sits down in the seat next to Duncs just before Ladd does, and okay, maybe he had to speed walk a little to get there first, but he really wants to sit next to his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who is grinning at him through a mouthful of turkey sandwich.

"Hi," Brent grins back, knocking their knees together under the table.

Ladd looks back and forth between them, now deprived of a spot, and finally sits on the other side of the table, next to Troy and Fraser. 

"Hey," Duncs says. Brent can see him fighting back a grin as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

"So you two have kissed and made up?" Ladd asks.

Duncs chokes a little on his sandwich, so Brent slaps him on the back and maybe rubs him there, just to make sure he's okay. "Yeah, we're good."

Ladd is still giving him a look and yeah, Brent probably should've called him or whatever after Duncs left last night. But he'd kind of forgotten and been tired.

The guys razz Duncs a little about the game, happy to be on this side of it this time around, and then talk inevitably turns to the fight.

"You guys were really going for each other, huh?" says Troy, munching on a fry.

"I guess. I mean, it was a hockey game," Brent replies.

"That's a pretty nice shiner you've got there," Fraz adds. "Duncs really got you a good one."

Brent laughs, and presses gently against his bruise. "He did, yeah. But I caught him pretty good in the mouth."

Duncs nods sagely. "It's true."

Brent wants to press his fingers against that bruise too. It's been too long since he last got to touch those. "It was a good fight," he says. "But we're cool."

"Oh Seabs, you'll never be cool," Fraser says.

"Fuck you, Frazzle Dazzle," Brent shoots back easily.

The conversation devolves into a series of insults around the table, and Brent drops his hand under the table to hold Duncs's hand. It's not even close to what he really wants to be doing right now, but it's going to have to be enough.

Or maybe not. Brent taps their joined hands against Duncs’s knee, and then announces casually, "Be right back guys, gotta take a piss."

Duncs squeezes back quickly before Brent lets go and stands up.

"Don't fall in!" calls Fraz, and Brent flips him off as he heads down the hall.

The bathroom is deserted while everyone is in the lunch room, so he takes a quick leak and is drying his hands when Duncs opens the door and joins him.

Brent laughs. "Why, fancy meeting you here!"

"Hey," Duncs smiles, sidling up next to him. "Real smooth back there."

“Oh, you know it, baby," Brent says, turning to face him.

Duncs wrinkles his nose at the endearment, but he can't stop a little quirk of his lips, and Brent has to kiss him. He's been so good all day, surely he deserves a reward.

Duncs puts his hand around that back of Brent's neck, and they stand there, lips together just feeling, for a few seconds before Duncs pulls back.

"Seabs what-"

"We're the only ones in here, I checked," Brent says, resting his forehead against Duncs's. "And there's fifteen minutes left before the bell. No one will be in here for like five or ten minutes."

Duncs still looks wary, but when Brent wraps his arms around Duncs, Duncs moves easily against him.

The softer kisses quickly give away to the kind that mean Brent has to remind his dick that they aren't getting laid in the school bathroom -- awesome as it would be -- so he doesn't realize the door is opening until it's almost too late.

Fortunately, it's just Ladd. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time Ladd has walked in or nearly walked in on Brent making out with someone. So even though Brent is casually fixing his hair, and Duncs is focusing real hard on washing his hands, Ladd stares at them and says, "Holy shit."

"Um," Brent says.

"I fucking knew it, Brouwer’s been telling me how gay you were for him for months--"

"Shh!" Brent says; his voice is getting alarmingly loud, and Duncs is looking tense at the sink.

"-- but you never said anything. Did you think I was going to freak out? Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No!" Brent says, and Ladd looks like he's been punched in the gut. "No, not -- I mean --"

But Brent doesn't have a chance to say what he meant, because four other dudes come piling into the bathroom, and Ladd slips out.

"Fuck," Brent says to the door.

"Yeah," Duncs says. "But come on, we need to get our bags." He bumps into Brent -- the closest thing to a hug he can give with half the basketball team at the urinals.

They head back to the lunch table where the guys are already packing up their stuff to head to class. Ladd's out of the cafeteria as soon as he has his stuff together, and Brent can't catch his eye to make him wait. 

Duncs dawdles tossing his tray and grabbing his backpack until he and Brent are almost alone. He broods as they walk down the hall together, and eventually says, "I don't want your friends to hate you."

"Don't worry about it," Brent says with a little more confidence than he feels. "He's gonna be madder that you're a Lancer than that you're a dude."

Duncs laughs a little, but he's still quiet as they take their seats in class.

Brent takes out his phone, and covertly sends Ladd a text under his desk.

 _that didnt come out rite. lemme drive u home n explain"_

He watches Ladd read it across the room and soon enough his phone buzzes with a text back.

 _u owe me timmys too, jsyk_

 

After school he walks with Duncs out to the parking lot, scanning the crowd for Ladd. “Have fun at practice,” he says.

“I will,” Duncs says. “Good luck with Ladd.”

“It'll be fine,” Brent assures him. “Call me when you get home?”

“Yeah,” Duncs agrees with a little grin. “I better get going.”

“Okay,” Brent says. He wants to kiss him goodbye or hug him or something. Instead he settles for a punch to the shoulder. Duncs smiles again, and punches him back before heading to his truck.

“How romantic,” Ladd says from behind him.

“Fuck off, eh?” Brent says. “Come on, my car's this way.”

They don't actually say anything until they get to Tim Hortons, and that's just for their orders, and the awkward silence is new and weird. Brent can't remember there ever being one of these before, and he shifts in his seat, watching Ladd out of the corner of his eye as he drives.

He's pretty sure Ladd doesn't care about the gay thing, but what if he does? He's Brent's best friend, and he doesn't know what he'd do if -- it'd just really suck.

“So when were you planning on telling me?” Ladd asks after Brent pays at the drive through window.

“I hadn't really thought about it,” Brent admits. It just all happened so fast, and he'd been moping all week and then yesterday ... he'd been distracted.

“You didn't think you should tell your best friend, 'Oh by the way, I'm gay now?'”

“I'm not like ... gay gay. I still like girls, I'm just also gay for Duncs.”

“And Chris Pronger.”

“Well, yeah,” Brent says. “But you knew about that one.”

“Troy's been bugging me for like, a month, asking me what's up with you two, and like an idiot I said nothing, and meanwhile you've been making out in bathrooms, and you didn't even _tell me,_ ” Ladd says.

“It was kind of sudden!” Brent protests.

Ladd snorts. “Yeah, whatever. But why didn't you tell me after? Like, dude, it's been weeks.”

“What?” Brent asks. “No dude, it's been like, thirty hours.” Not that he's counting.

“Bullshit.”

"I'm serious." Brent runs his hand over the back of his neck. "I kind of drunk dialed him at the party on Saturday, and then yesterday he came over and we, you know, talked it out."

Ladd raises an eyebrow in his direction.

"...And fooled around some," Brent admits. 

"He any good?"

Brent flushes immediately, which makes Ladd laugh at least.

"But still, I thought I'd at least warrant a 'hey Laddy, I think I want into Duncan Keith's pants,'" Ladd says.

"Yeah, no, you totally do, I was just -- it was embarrassing. I figured out I wanted to right after he got really pissed at me, and I didn't want to tell anyone," Brent says. "I should have though. You're my best friend, and probably would've helped straighten things out sooner."

Because talking with Duncs yesterday made it clear that Brent is kind of an idiot, but Duncs likes him anyway.

"I don't think straightening is really what you wanted, Seabs," Ladd says.

"That was awful, Andy," Brent says.

"You'd be lost without me," Ladd says. "And for the love of god, don't call me that."

Brent grins. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah," Ladd says. "Yeah, we're good."

Brent relaxes back into his seat. 

"Now, unless you want the entire school to find out about you two, I'd suggest not making out in the bathrooms at school. Or bathrooms anywhere, really, because that's gross. But if you're going to, at least lock the door."

Brent nods wryly. "It's just, you know..."

"You can't keep your hands out of his pants."

Brent acknowledges that this is pretty much the case. He finally starts taking in the scenery he's driving by, and has to make a sudden and slightly illegal left turn in order not to miss Ladd's street. He pulls up in front of his drive and puts the car in park.

"I'd invite you in," Ladd says, "but I'm pretty sure you have a date with Duncs to do more than punching him on the arm."

Brent grins. "Yeah, kind of. But like later, you and me need to hang."

"Bros before hos," Ladd says.

"I'm telling Duncs you called him that."

 

He doesn't, actually, because when Duncs swings by on his way home from practice they just end up making out in his truck. It's less comfortable than the bathroom, but also way less gross.

"So Ladd's okay with this? With us?" Duncs asks when Brent finally stops monopolizing his mouth to focus on his jaw and his neck. He can smell the soap from when Duncs showered after practice, and his hair is still a little damp. Brent wishes he was still a little naked.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. Thinks we're idiots, but it's not a gay thing," Brent says to a spot behind Duncs's ear. Duncs shivers a little and Brent can't help but grin. 

"Good, uh, good. Sharpy says he needs to talk to you."

Brent pulls back a little. 

"Am I going to get beat up?"

Duncs makes a small protesting noise, and threads his hand through the hair at the back of Brent's head.

"You'll be fine. He doesn't punch as hard as you, anyway." He kisses Brent, and suddenly imminent interrogation doesn't seem so pressing. 

Eventually it goes from "getting dark" to "fully dark," and it starts to get cold in the cab of the truck, even with them working up body heat and sharing the warmth. 

"I probably have to get home to dinner," Duncs says reluctantly.

"Yeah. I don't want to think about how long my mom's been watching from the window."

Duncs ducks guiltily and glances toward the house, checking all the windows. Sure enough, Mrs. Seabrook waves at them from the kitchen, making them both blush.

"So, I'm going to enjoy that conversation," Brent says glumly.

"She's not going to be mad, is she?"

"Nah, she'll just want to talk about like, being careful, and not doing it in their bed, and stuff."

Duncs pulls a face at that. "Oh, god."

"If I don't make it to school tomorrow, it's because I died of embarrassment. Tell Ladd he can have my equipment."

Brent reaches for the door handle, but pulls back and gives Duncs one quick peck on the lips before he goes.

 

It's definitely more awkward than the first sex talk he got, and when he finally escapes to his room it's just embarrassing to realize that the receipt in the Pharmasave bag with the condoms and the lube is from last month.

Duncs laughs at him for two minutes straight when Brent calls to tell him that. He pretends to be annoyed, but he just likes the sound of Duncs laughing, so he lets it continue.


End file.
